


The Patronus and the Penumbra

by CrystalSpinning



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-21
Updated: 2018-11-27
Packaged: 2019-06-30 17:28:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 45,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15756423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrystalSpinning/pseuds/CrystalSpinning
Summary: [Hogwarts Mystery AU] [Postwar] [Charlie Weasley/Jacob's Sibling] After a pyrrhic victory has left wizarding society in shambles, Charlie is reunited with an old friend of the family. He had always promised to make her an official Weasley, after all.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on ffn. First time posting here.

It wasn't until Oliver Wood found her that she thought she might not die.

She'd been an excellent dueller during her school days; she'd bested almost all of her schoolmates with only a handful of losses under her belt, even from her first year on. But this had been different. This had not been supervised. This had been a vicious, no-holds-barred, furious barrage of attack and defense and sly spells that she'd never before faced. At one point, in the corner of her vision had been Pius Thicknesse and she was only able to notice even that with the most passing of attention as the Death Eater in front of her, some unrecognizable man, flung offensive spells at her with a rapidity that made her stomach clench with fear; it was all she could do to block, hardly able to stand her own ground and being forced to retreat, reevaluate, wrack her brain for different solutions on how to stop it. Her mind was already not working fully, a panic she'd never before felt in her life settling over her, making her numb. Making her sloppy.

He loomed over her, and she blocked, flinging a spell his way, blocking again, pretending he was a particularly vicious curse that needed breaking. "Confring-"

Before she could finish the spell that might've saved her, it had hit her with all of its lethal, mind-massacring, body-battering fury, sending her into unstoppable throes that felt like eternity. She had never been in so much pain before, and simultaneously she could not remember a time she had not been in such frenzied agony. The acid in her veins ate through her muscles, disintegrating her skin, permeating every joyful memory she'd ever had. Tainting her. The Cruciatus Curse. She understood, now, just why it was so unforgivable. Without a mark to be seen, she'd just been tortured.

It had lasted perhaps ten seconds, absconding quickly with the final remnants of her strength. There was no way she'd have managed to continue to fight. She should have died, then and there, hit with another Unforgivable and forgotten, left lifeless in the hall of the school she'd loved so much.

That did not happen.

Her pathetic life was saved, because the very moment she was flung back from the force of the spell, there was an explosion. The very walls around her caved, hitting her and covering her with dust, choking her as she twitched and writhed, the abuse of the slap of cement and stone against her as she convulsed against the prison of the wall atop her second only to the pain of the memory of the Cruciatus. Even recalling that it had happened seemed to send new throbs of fresh hurt through her, like knives being forced through each individual pore of her skin.

It was difficult to breathe. Harder to cough. Her body could not even summon the strength to do that. She didn't know how long she'd been there. Her only clock was the screaming that echoed in the distance. There was an immense weight on her side, and it felt heavy and warm. Either blood, or she'd pissed herself in terror and agony, wetting her robes. Then there was only silence, with only the faintest noises registering over the roar of blood in her ears. Sweat dripped down her neck, the hot air from her labored breathing having little escape.

Perhaps seconds passed, or hours. She wasn't sure. Silence waved in and out, crashing and retreating. She hadn't been hit with a killing curse, but perhaps she would die anyway. This would simply be more slowly. She wasn't sure which was preferable.

Then he lifted her, Wood did, and she only vaguely recognized him. It had been nearly a decade since she'd seen him last. He'd been… he had been on the Gryffindor Quidditch team. With Charlie. Had he been a Chaser? She couldn't recall. Mad about the sport, he was, notorious for his obsession. With that association, recognition flashed into place. Oliver Wood, three years younger than her. Scottish? He did not speak.

She could hardly keep her eyes open, she was so exhausted from the adrenaline rush and subsequent agony. The wreckage around her… it didn't look like Hogwarts. Walls were missing. Paintings were gone, blown to bits. It was easier to just keep her eyes closed, rather than fight the exhaustion just to be exposed to more trauma.

She summoned all of her energy, trying to catch his attention. His face, so serious, so dirty, made her feel guilty. He was younger than she was, she should be helping him, not vice-versa. But she'd never suffered an unforgivable curse before, despite her work with the Order of the Phoenix. The sectumsempra that had hit her earlier had been bloody painful, yes, but she'd managed to dodge the brunt of it, leaving only her legs bleeding. She'd been able to keep fighting, even if only in retreat.

Until it happened. She shivered at the recent memory of it, an unstoppable trembling that captured Wood's attention. It was as though even the memory of it could trigger the spell over again. She wondered if it was a temporary side effect or if that was part of what made the curse so insidiously clever. She could feel her skin peeling off her body as her muscles imploded. And she'd lost her wand. That hurt almost as much as the curse. She couldn't ask him to go back either. Her throat felt dry. She was dehydrated, and possibly bleeding out, fading in and out of consciousness. She wouldn't so much mind dying, especially now that Wood had found her. There were no Death Eaters in sight, and the woozier she felt, the farther away the pain was. It wasn't so bad. The lightheadedness. She almost felt normal, if her vision didn't keep fading.

Wood glanced down at her, his face solemn and hard, covered with dust, lining the furrows of his frown. "You're alive." His tone was rather surprised, in an odd contrast the harsh expression he wore. His brogue was thick, near incomprehensible. "Are you well enough to stand? I've got you if not."

"Yeah," she croaked, sliding down his side, her knees not even locking and letting her pool on the floor like a boneless mass.

She was alive.

He hoisted her back up, easily supporting her. Standing next to him, she recalled just how bloody large he was. He loosened his grip and she staggered a little, but thick arms kept her in place while she gathered her balance and strength, giving her enough room to right herself but still grasping her protectively.

She wanted to apologize for the blood she'd spread on his robes, but it wasn't the time. It didn't matter anymore. There was dried blood on his shirt. He bore the scent of death, and he bore it with a stoic strength that belied his usual manic demeanor.

Pulling her up against his burly frame, letting her put most of her weight on him, he did not comment on her injuries as they walked. Or rather, as he walked and she tried to not be a dead weight. Their progress was slow. It would've been faster for him to carry her, but he looked exhausted. She couldn't ask that of him.

There were bodies everywhere. Dead bodies. Children's bodies. Some he knew, likely. Some she even knew, had known in another life. Dead now.

She gaped at the state of it all.

"You can't stand," he said to her quietly, letting her lean against the wall of the Great Hall.

Scanning the room for someone she'd recognize, she found no one, hardly able to see farther than Oliver's face.

"How can I help?" she asked him, before he turned to find new bodies, like the others who were slowly filing in, carrying an endless number of the dead.

His expression was wan, but kind. "You can't."

With that, he turned and left, and she was alone.

Where was Tonks? She'd come here after Tonks' Patronus had come to get her. She had no idea if anyone else were here, though she had seen a few familiar faces filing through the Hog's Head. None close enough to ask. And this was hardly the time to catch up.

Head aching, she slid down the wall, wishing for her wand, to be able to assist in some meaningful way. But despite her determination, she was only mortal, and slipped into unnoticed unconsciousness, still dripping blood through the lacerations in her legs while the battle waned and midnight passed.

When she woke up again, her head foggy and her neck aching, she thought perhaps Oliver Wood had returned. There was a set of thick legs in front of her, large feet. But Oliver had been wearing robes, she was certain.

No, it was Charlie Weasley in front of her.

She blinked hazily; she hadn't seen him in years. It was enough to make her wonder if she really had died. Yet there was no mistaking the myriad of freckles spread across his face as he leaned into her, dropping to his knees, his mouth and eyes moving and flashing with the same intensity he'd always had. Vital, he was. She'd never met anyone else with so many of the tiny constellations that spread across his face, not even his siblings. She'd never met someone so riveted by the outdoors, either, and his time away had only spread them until there was hardly any white-pink skin left in between the ever-changing, unique marks.

He was saying something, and she tried to focus on it, but it was… so difficult… exhausting. There were suddenly so many noises, so much talking… had they won? She saw no sign of Death Eaters still. There was only Charlie, good ol' Charlie, smiling hugely at her, even as she knew he'd been crying, his face shining and streaked and puffy. Charlie Weasley… crying? Perhaps of joy? Even a Polyjuice potion couldn't imitate the sheer Charlieness of his expression; a grin teamed with the most watchful, gentle eyes she'd ever seen, both uplifting and thoughtful. What had happened? It had to be a victory. Loss would have looked different on him.

Then Madam Pomfrey appeared next to Charlie, and the witch tapped her wand against her bloody legs, instantly healing them. Gasping, in sudden, painful, itchy relief, she sighed, nearly surging up to stand, the relief was so shocking and euphoric. Charlie gently pushed a goblet at her. Pumpkin juice. Draining the cup, sudden everything came into better focus. Her throat felt better. Her mind felt sharper. Her ears worked again. Madam Pomfrey smiled at her, bringing to mind the moment they shared her second year, when she'd mastered Episkey in an effort to help the overwhelmed witch. If only she could repeat that moment, assist again.

"Are you alright?" Charlie asked, running a hand through his hair as Madam Pomfrey touched her hand and moved on to others, briskly waving her wand about. She'd always been so efficient, not an ounce of energy wasted. An invaluable skill, learned from years of Hogwarts disasters, to be sure.

Taking the embrace he offered her, she remained silent, unwilling to think about the Death Eater who'd cursed her, unwilling to tell him, wondering what she could say to ease his mind but not lie. Great. No, not sarcasm. Better now? Or maybe the truth; I'm in mounds of pain, aren't you?

"I can always see you roll through your options in your head, Henrietta," his voice in her ear was low and serious, a warning. "Just tell me how you feel right now. I can get Madam Pomfrey back if you have any other injuries."

"I'm fine," she denied, looking at him fondly, glad for her suddenly clarity of vision. He was right. "How are you?"

"Didn't even get injured," he shook his head, and she saw a flash of something, something she wanted to push. His eyes averted, his expression changed, his brows furrowed. His tanned face contorted - his was a face used to smiling and laughter. It created new lines around his mouth, and he tilted his head away, angling his face away. His profile was different; he'd always been thick, a round, chubby boy with broad shoulders and snub nose. This was a man's face, the skin worn and leathered and lean, his nose more prominent and strong, his jaw sharp.

"I didn't ask if you were injured," she pointed out, her own eyebrows furrowing a little. That expression made her ache to see it.

"We won," he said shortly, his face suddenly stony in a manner she'd never seen. "Can you stand? Bill's here too, and Fleur, and of course my parents. They'd love to see you. Alive and safe." He placed a hand against her forehead and temple absentmindedly, in a gesture his mother might've. His skin was rough against hers.

She nodded absently, her mind preoccupied. "Where's Tonks?"

That flash again, of him trying to turn his face away so she couldn't see the grimace that twisted his mouth or the hurt in his eyes. She knew. She did not want to hear the answer.

"Who else?" she asked quietly. Death was inevitable during wars. Just… she'd never imagined Tonks dying. Fearless, impish Tonks? Dora? The troublesome, mischievous girl who was constantly sent to detention for impersonating teachers? The Auror who relied just as much on skill and talent as she did sheer ballsiness?

She'd just had a baby. Oh, and Remus. Remus Lupin. He'd loved her, Tonks. Clever and kind and self-sacrificing until the end. It hurt to think of the baby. Teddy. Little Teddy. She hadn't even met him yet. War was not kind to children.

"Remus," he said quietly, shocking her. "... and… Fred."

Grasping him even more tightly, she looked at him. "Merlin's teeth, Charlie," she choked, shocked. Tonks and Fred. The two liveliest people who'd ever lived.

"Yeah," he answered, lifting her a little. Her legs, healed from the sectumsempra, still felt itchy and out of place, as if they weren't really hers. "Seeing you get torn up is a nice change," he commented, teasing a little, trying to lighten the mood, even as his heart wasn't in it, his voice detached. "You were always so untouchable in school. While everyone else ended up in the hospital wing, you were always getting out of scuffles scot-bloody-free."

"Sheer luck and cautiousness, neither of which I had tonight. Felt like more of a hindrance than a help," she admitted, legs wobbling, not as strong as she felt they should be.

Just as Wood had, Charlie pulled her against his enormous frame, letting her wonder for the millionth time how someone so huge had played as Seeker, despite his skill on a broom. He took most of her weight upon himself, and for that she was grateful. She'd felt guilty for asking Wood to assist her. Charlie was different.

Slowly, they made their way through the excitedly chattering crowds, to a group of redheads, undeniably recognizable.

"Oh goodness, Henrietta, dear, is that you?" Molly Weasley peered up at her with tired, teary eyes, maternal even in grief and exhaustion and adrenaline, unhinging herself from her husband's grip. "How good to see you're well, dear, it's been far too long since I've seen you. You must come to dinner, soon, you haven't sat with us since our trip to Egypt."

"Hello, Mrs. Weasley, Mr. Weasley," Henrietta did not smile. She could not. But she allowed the woman to take her hand and pat it gently, if distractedly, feeling the absent-minded warmth in the gesture.

Bill looked up at her from his grip on Fleur, a genuine, if small smile playing at his lips. He joined her and Charlie, ruffling her hair affectionately. "How did you get here? I couldn't get a hold of you. I was worried something had happened."

"Tonks sent me a Patronus," she answered soberly. Next to him, Fleur dabbed at her eyes, hardly able to summon a greeting and Bill rejoined her, his stance protective and loving. They all seemed torn between celebration and sorrow. How had it happened? Had she slept through it all? She felt sick with unknowing, with exhaustion. She could not summon the joy she felt she should have, only grief. It was not a climax. It was the beginning of another battle, a legal, financial, social battle in which the repercussions of the past few years would have lasting effects on the economy, Britain's magical standing in the international community, and the interactions Muggle-borns would have in the world from this point forward. She was too young to remember the war before, but this would have to be handled better. Prejudices would have to be dealt with. Culture would have to shift.

It seemed impossible.

She and Charlie remained standing, and she was grateful for the weight on her legs. The dried blood made her calves feel tight. Her thighs trembled with her weight. She swept her gaze along the criss-crossing line of redheads curiously. Percy was there, wild-eyed, looking absolutely shell-shocked by the evening, untouched by the joy surrounding them, the aura of victory. She'd hardly spent time with him, three years younger than them and quiet. Next to him was one of the twins.

Or rather, there was George, chattering with a group around his age, as lively as ever despite the stiffness of his posture and the steely, determined look in his eye. The sight of him, valiantly appearing joyful, as was his wont, was enough to send her into throes of hysterics. Seeing him seemed to sum up all the pain of what was happening. Celebrate now. Grieving would come later, and it would come hard and fast and all-consuming. Keep the pain at bay. For now.

Henrietta tightened her grip on Charlie's bicep as the lump in her throat grew, and he tightened back, watching his brother just as intently. George Weasley, the short little kid she'd known, a tiny little prankster constantly in trouble. So like Tonks. And now he was left without his partner in crime. The thought made her ache a little.

"Kingsley and McGonagall are going to arrange a large memorial service," Charlie whispered to her, his voice even. She looked up at him, sidelong. He was watching his dad comfort his mum, their joy and relief at an obvious contrast to their pain and grief.

"How many of the deaths are students or just out?" she asked flatly, her voice hoarse and brittle. Seventeen year olds who had little practical skill in the real world. It hurt. She imagined herself at seventeen, fighting a battle she knew she'd fail. At seventeen, she probably would have died here. At twenty she might've. Here and now, at twenty-four, she'd only survived from sheer luck.

Victory had come at a cost, as it always did. At least it was over now.

"You need medical attention," Charlie noted, hoisting her up from where she'd begun to sag against him, refusing to answer her question. "Madam Pomfrey didn't give you a full checkup, there could be something wrong. It's absolute madness in here, she's hardly able to do anything besides shove potions and minor spells at people, and she has little enough help."

"She's busy," she denied, pushing away from him. Her wobbly legs hardly allowed it, and she probably would've fallen if he hadn't stepped closer, ignoring her light shove. Her entire body felt like pressure was building up inside, sapping her strength, drawing the breath from her lungs and swelling her up. At first she'd thought it was just the rise of her emotions. Now, she realized belatedly that the pain was not ebbing, that something was wrong.

"Can you conjure a bowl?" she asked him, and he quickly complied, a large purple ceramic piece, shifting so that he held it before her with his free arm, supporting her with his other. He held her with practised ease, strong from wrestling dragons and manual labor, but inherently gentle. He could ease fear from anyone or anything with a stroke of wide fingers.

She vomited blood, hard enough to cramp her stomach, and everything went dark.

x

She woke up at the Burrow. She hadn't been here in years. Last summer, Bill had gotten married, but for the past few years there'd been an exponentially increasing influx of cursed Muggleborns and Muggles, which required particular care and time at work. She'd missed the entire ceremony, and her only opportunity to see him in months.

They'd been close in school, and remained thus after he graduated and moved to Egypt. She'd followed him there, delighted by their adventures together. It had been inspired, after all, by the Cursed Vaults from their Hogwarts days.

However, after Bill had left Egypt, she'd found herself increasingly unhappy. Her partners had all been either too serious, to the point of a strained working relationship, or too carefree, which never ended well. Her last partner had her left arm cursed clean off, effectively ending her career. That had left a rather bad taste in Henrietta's mouth. With few friends and nothing to tie her down anywhere, she'd left, returning to England just a few months after Bill, procuring a cursebreaker assignation at St. Mungo's, much to the annoyance of the goblins. A job that had only become increasingly hectic as the political climate became more and more strained, leaving her hardly any spare hours to sleep at her own flat, let alone visit friends or relax. She often worked fourteen hour days, extra shifts, and skipping meals and breaks, finding little time even for light correspondence that didn't specifically pertain to work. She'd learned not to buy more than the basic necessities for her flat, and found herself charming her clothing clean and showering in the hospital more and more often. Her hair had grown longer than she usually preferred, and she'd grown wider from the cheap, premade food she'd often eaten, as well as a lack of physical activity, though she'd become adept at dealing with all sorts of tricky spells and stubborn curses that manifested in odd - and lethal - manners.

She was surprised Charlie had even recognized her, as filthy and changed as she was from the last time he'd seen her.

They'd graduated the same year, but had almost immediately lost contact once summer had ended in '91. He'd moved to Romania, and was notoriously dreadful at sending owls, to his mother's despair. Those he did manage send were short, distracted notes to both she and Bill simultaneously, since he couldn't be bothered to write a real letter, let alone two. Of course, she was pleased he was happy, but it put her out a bit that he was suddenly so distant. After Bill had left school, he'd been her confidante, rapidly becoming an integral part of their circle of friends. She'd spent half her summer here after graduation, Floo-calling Bill every other moment for suggestions on what to pack for Egypt, prancing around outside with little Ginny, and desperately trying to avoid the twin's unending pranks on Percy and Ron; somehow, she'd become the unwitting trio of their victims, and only a degree from Hogwarts and several Outstanding NEWTs were able to keep her from avoiding the same traps Ron and Percy were constantly blundering into, to Ginny and the twin's gleeful amusement.

And she'd been with Charlie - who'd insisted on impressing upon her his prowess on a broom, though she'd never missed a Gryffindor Quidditch match, on showing her all of Ottery St. Catchpole, of introducing her to their odd neighbors, Ginny's little playmate, a young witch called Luna, making her help with his chores. They'd been inseparable.

Blinking at her surroundings, she sat up in the bed. She'd never spent the night, never had cause to, especially once she'd been able to Apparate. But there was no mistaking it; the sun was setting over Mrs. Weasley's garden, and there was the comforting wornness to the bed sheets. The smell of home cooking and sweat and wool permeated the air, and the slight instability of the floor only cemented her instinct, and when she tried to rip the quilt from over her, she only groaned as a deep, dull pain coursed through her. Looking down, she tried to move, to unbutton the clothes that most certainly didn't belong to her, to see what was causing the pain. This wasn't the same agony as Skele-Gro, but a heaviness that spread across her torso, like being stuck in a bath filled with mud.

Thirsty, hot, and sore, she attempted to sit slowly up, before spotting a glass of water at the table beside the bed. Reaching for it eagerly, Henrietta drank deeply, before realizing she could hardly swallow, the front of her body felt so sore. She spat the water back into the cup, discreetly.

Just when she was beginning to despair that she'd die or boredom or dehydration, Charlie walked in the room, freshly showered.

"You're awake," he said, surprised, beginning to rummage through his clothing. "Thought you'd be out for another day at least."

"I feel awful," she admitted easily. "What happened?"

"Internal bleeding. Easily fixed with another charm from Madam Pomfrey, but the recovery is a day or two. It wasn't safe to leave you at the hospital wing with that damage to the school, and," he looked sheepish. "Neither Bill or I knew where your flat was, and we didn't want to bother Andromeda."

"This is fine, as long as your mum's okay with it," she assured him. "I don't mean to be a bother, I know it's busy here."

He shrugged at that, his eyes losing their usual intensity and fading to sadness. "Bill and Fleur have their own place, and I'm going to bunk with George. Percy has his own flat as well, though they'll probably be around a fair bit, and Hermione and Ginny'll share a room, same as Ron and Harry. This is all…" he frowned, searching for the right word. "Temporary," he settled feebly. "Nobody knows what their next move is, but it's better to do it as a family, right?"

"C'mere," she said, and would've motioned if she didn't feel so heavy.

He obeyed, sitting at the edge of the bed - his childhood bed - and looked at her expectantly.

"I haven't seen you in years," she chided. "Can't I just look at you for a moment?"

"You didn't come to Bill's wedding," he reminded her. "I looked right dashing, then. Though Mum really went at me with the scissors - you would've had a lark. My hair was shorter than yours ever was."

Touching her own stringy locks, she tried to summon the image of Charlie without hair. "You weren't at Tonks'," she countered, before remembering.

It felt like a physical blow.

She'd been planning to quip that her hair was longer than his now, something that had never happened, and how excellent she'd looked at the wedding - hair and all. The words died in her throat. It didn't matter. She didn't want to talk about how difficult it had been to get any traditional supplies, how little Tonks cared, the wooden flowers Rowan had crafted, and how utterly radiant she'd looked, happier than Henrietta had ever seen her, how Remus had seemed to transcend his clothes and his scars and his thoughtfulness, becoming just as giddy as Tonks.

His hand found hers. It was a comforting grip, large and dry and calloused. They'd never held hands like this before, but it was pleasant. She noticed his arm was covered in scars. Magical burns mostly, from the looks of it, with a few other marks and scabs thrown in. Pensively, his thumb stroked her hand, and she closed her eyes, enjoying the feeling of his rough, warm skin against hers. He felt like sunlight. She'd had precious little exposure to that in the past two years. Or perhaps he felt like dragonfire, and she - thankfully - had no exposure to that.

"Don't go yet," she said, a question and a command and a plea, all in one.

"Are you in any pain?" he asked, concerned.

"Feels like I got hit by a wall," she joked, enjoying the sensation of Charlie's weight pulling on the blanket down tightly around her and his hand on hers. It had been too long since she'd seen him. "How's everyone holding up here?"

"As well as can be expected," he said morosely, a non-answer in the form of a cliche.

"Charlie."

He blew out a sigh, and his grip tightened a little. "Mum's a mess… bloody furious at Ginny for leaving the Room of Requirement and endangering herself before her seventeenth birthday - she was nearly killed by Bellatrix Lestrange, and of course she's utterly broken up about Fred, and Percy's whole situation is up in the air. Though thankfully she and Fleur are finally on the same team, and that took long enough."

Henrietta felt dazed by the influx of information. "Wait, what's wrong with Percy?" Hadn't he been the most eager to please his parents, the obedient, scholarly one? She remembered the drama with Fleur - Bill had mentioned it in several owls he'd sent her - and it was easy enough to guess at even without that information. If there was one thing about Mrs. Weasley that was predictable, it was her protective streak.

"Blimey," he said, and she opened her eyes a little, peering up at his worried expression. "What isn't? A whole family quarrel. Percy disowned the family for a while. He didn't come back until last night. Rather shocking turn of events."

"Did he reconcile…" she trailed off, thinking again of two bright-eyed Gryffindor troublemakers flinging boiled carrots at Percy during dinner, while he tried to remain dignified, as if he didn't feel the little savages gleefully pelting their dinner at him with the aim of practiced duellists despite McGonagall's icy glare levelled their way.

"Yeah," his whisper was deep and low. "He and Fred were okay, as far as I can tell. It's hard to get anything out of anyone. Dad's a bit nutty too - the whole Ministry is a mess. He and Perce've been popping in and out of the Floo like mad."

"Don't I know it," she whispered, closing her eyes wholly, thinking of her job. She was probably fired for missing shifts at St. Mungo's, and be sent to some other place Gringotts had in mind. They'd been displeased she'd even wanted to return home to begin with. St. Mungo's, while a worthy endeavor, did not bring home treasure. Surprisingly, the thought of being fired did not bother her. The thought of leaving again did, and she puzzled over that.

"I just… I feel guilty. For not being here. These past months especially."

Sitting up and nearly flopping down from the pain and her muscles' inability to hold her up for longer than three seconds, she looked at him seriously. "Charlie, don't feel that way. You were there when it counted most. And we all had parts to play. Just because you weren't an active Order member doesn't mean you didn't play an important role. Besides, what's the point of quitting your life's work and moving home just to stay in hiding? Didn't you do recruiting in Romania? That had to have been immensely helpful."

"Yeah. Were you in the Order?" he asked her curiously.

This time, it was her whose voice was low. "Sort of. Technically, yes, but with work… it was hard. I didn't attend many meetings or go on missions. I didn't have time, and suddenly taking off would've been suspicious, particularly with a good number of Ministry officials wandering in and out of the hospital at all hours. Anyway, it was good for me to be there so much. Gave me an excuse to do my work. Mostly, I spent a lot of time smuggling Muggle-borns to safety."

"Did you?" he seemed surprised. "What is it you do now? I know you left Egypt right after Bill."

"I'm a curse-breaker. At St. Mungo's," she explained. "After Bill left, it wasn't the same. I took the position there to be closer to... home, I s'pose. There's a lot of high-level, classified information passing in and out of there anyway, and after '95 there was suddenly a huge influx of cursed Muggle-borns," she shivered a little, remembering some of the nastier cases. "Even Muggles were victims of… I s'pose they're hate crimes. Dealing with Muggles, though, is supremely delicate, because they have to be selectively Obliviated too."

She had no idea what her future held at this point. She'd wanted adventure in Egypt with her best friend; then, she'd wanted to help people the way Madam Pomfrey had always told her she was good at. She'd been lucky enough to be able to play to her precise skill set for so long. But it was exhausting work, physically and emotionally taxing in a way she wasn't able to continue. Especially now that the war was over. If she wasn't fired, half the cursebreaker positions at the hospital would be obsolete in a few months anyway.

His next question was more hesitant. "What about Ben Copper?"

She was silent so long that Charlie began to wonder if she'd fallen asleep. But she continued, eyes still shut, but tighter now. "He worked at St. Mungo's too, actually - research for magical maladies. He was always incredible at Charms. Potions too, when Snape wasn't terrorizing him. He…" she closed her eyes. "He was one of the first to... go missing when You-Know - when he came to power. We were just talking, one minute, after I'd had to deal with a particularly nasty Muggle case, and the next, loads of Ministry officials came in… they were so awful, Charlie, they just started flinging spells and curses, not even asking questions, saying he was dangerous and a traitor and he'd stolen his wand from a pureblood."

She went cold remembering. The look of shock and confusion on his face. They'd both been paralyzed by fear. "He was half-dead before they pulled him out of the room. He didn't even have time to put up a Shield Charm. They just attacked him like an animal, as soon as they verified his identity. I don't know what happened to him. Everything was just as it always was. Then it... just wasn't. I haven't seen him since. I haven't been able to find a trace of him. Rowan's been trying to find him. He's probably..." she broke off, the pain in her chest compounded by the emotions that choked her.

"Blimey," Charlie breathed, his expression slack and haunted. "I'd heard Snatchers and officials alike were bringing Muggle-borns to court to be tried, but I'd heard it was all a farce. I didn't know they were so… brutal. Not even a pretense for him, eh?"

"It was messy," she admitted, feeling tears sting her eyes. She blinked them back. "It was... the day of Bill's wedding, actually. Everything was normal, if a bit tense, and then everything just erupted into chaos. He wasn't the only one they took that day."

"And Rowan? And Penny Haywood?"

"Rowan is fine," she assured him confidently. "She's a pureblood, and her family's name is good and the tree business is lucrative. She kept her head down. I didn't want her involved in anything too dangerous, but of course, she had all sorts of ways of figuring stuff out; you remember how much she enjoyed studying and researching. Especially after Ben went missing. She was an informant for the Order, though she wasn't a member." Rowan had always been delicate, less talented with a wand than a quill. "Penny's okay. She went into hiding after the Ministry fell - she's a half-blood, her father's a Muggle-born and she wanted to keep him safe. Tulip is okay as well - her parents work in the Ministry, though Tulip was nearly arrested for rebel activities once, I don't know how she managed to get out of it without being tortured or detained."

"Andre?" he prompted.

"Andre's been in the Americas for the past three years. He's doing research on Magical Creatures indigenous to the Americas. I think he's in Canada right now. It's difficult to get into contact with him and I've sort of fallen off owling this past year with how busy everything has been, but he wanted to come home. It took Rowan convincing him to stay, that it was too dangerous here. He was useful as well; they correspond quite often and he had contacts in MACUSA. He gets to fly everywhere; I'm not sure if he ever got properly licensed to Apparate."

Charlie nodded, looking around his and Bill's childhood room. He hadn't spoken to most of these people in ages, though he'd once been quite close with several of them.

"Don't feel guilty, Charlie," Henrietta soothed him. "We've all been busy. This is all information I've gotten from Rowan, and I haven't spoken to her in nearly two months. Work has been nonstop, and they'd stopped cursing Muggle-borns and just began murdering them. These past few weeks have been all about keeping ourselves alive."

"What about Lee?"

"Barnaby… I think you can guess that he was surrounded Death Eaters," she whispered, hating the shuttered look on Charlie's face. "I don't think he was willing. You know him. He wasn't the most pleasant person, but he was no killer. I don't know if he joined. He wasn't at the Battle." He could be dead.

"Pressure isn't an excuse," Charlie said harshly, a sharp and painful change from the young boy who'd insisted cheerfully that Merula Snyde couldn't possibly be all bad.

Henrietta's eyes opened and she fixed him with a severe frown. "We all had our parts to play, Charlie," she answered stubbornly. "Our families and even our houses define for us our futures, same as our choices do. We don't always get to exercise free will, because our circumstances dictate the choices we're allowed to make, the options we get. He was a Slytherin; even if he wasn't really a Death Eater, he's going to be dismissed as one by those who were brave enough to fight against them. And if he was, even if he didn't carry out a single action against the Order or Muggleborns, he's still going to live with that guilt for the rest of his life. He's going to be painted as a monster no matter what, simply for the house he was in during his school years. He could have been in France this entire time and he'd still be tainted, so don't you dare pass judgment on him yet." Then she quieted from her righteous anger. "People do terrible things out of fear."

"It's not about houses, it's about-" Charlie began, withdrawing his hand.

"Charlie, I'm not going to make this a more complex issue for you," she said wearily. "And you can't simplify it for me. We're going to have to agree to disagree. I don't make allowances for the Death Eaters, but I do think that this is a complex psychological issue and the Ministry conveniently ignored that during the last war. A hate crime is a hate crime, but many of these people - our enemies - were children when You-Know- He first came to power, and they were expected to follow their parents' footsteps. There was no alternative once he was back. It's just as much the Ministry's fault for making these monsters as it is the fault of You-Know… As it is his fault."

Standing up, Charlie said shortly: "I'll bring in a tray for you. Mum's made dinner, spelled it to keep warm for you."

With that, he exited, standing outside the room for a moment, listening to the odd quiet in the house. As long as he could remember, the Burrow had always been noisy: cleaning spells; Fred and George's various explosions and laughter; Ron and Ginny arguing; the inevitable bragging Percy always did; Dad's monologues about his newfound Muggle inventions; Mum, railing at Ron's attitude or Fred and George's pranks, or Bill's clothing choices.

Now there was noise, but it was different. Ron and Harry and Ginny and Hermione had went off on their own, to play Quidditch or walk or snog, whatever it was they were doing, just as long as it got them out of the house, to breathe the air of safety and victory and finality. Mum, in a furious haze, scrubbing every surface in between bouts of tears. George had locked himself in his room, and it was oddly silent in a way it had never been before. Only Bill had dared enter. Fleur was helping Mum cook, and Percy and Dad had popped off to the Ministry together.

It was tense, and it was difficult, but it was almost the same. They could almost pretend. Soon, though, would be the ceremony at Hogwarts. Then there'd be a funeral for Fred. They'd have to go back to normal life. As normal as they could be, he amended to himself. It would never be quite normal again. Not for George. Not for Ginny and Harry. Not for Ron. Not for Percy.

Charlie, despite himself, couldn't wait to return to Romania. Family life was always difficult at best - more complicated than the mating habits of an Opaleye, more fraught than healing a Short-snout's ingrown claws. As much as he loved his dragons, the danger, the excitement, the beauty and the sheer magical presence that vibrated through the very air of the sanctuary… his career sometimes really just felt like an escape from what was here. A much-needed one.

When he got to the kitchen, Fleur was setting up a tray, radiant even in exhaustion, glowing vitality and life, skin glowing and hair flowing as she pittered about the room.

"Ah, Charlie, this eez for 'enrietta," she patted the tray as she finished placing various dishes on top of the huge tray full of Mum's cooking. "You weel 'ave to carry eet for me, Charlie, eet is very 'eavy and I do not want a drop speeled. Your friend needs much food, she looks as zough she 'as not 'ad a proper meal in weeks."

That was true enough. Even as she rapidly healed, her skin remained sallow in a way it hadn't been in school. Though he remained solidly against Lee, he felt guilty for trying to argue with her. She was one of the least confrontational people he'd ever met, always preferring to soothe rather than quarrel, quietly subvert rather than outwardly disobey.

Besides that, he hadn't spoken to her in years, had relied on updates from Bill, which had become less and less frequent as the months wore on... until they stopped completely. He hadn't forgotten about her, but he hadn't thought of her in weeks. Other matters had simply been more pressing. Distraction could mean death in his line of work. He supposed she could understand that.

Obediently the tray, which was actually was surprisingly weighty, he clambered back up the stairs. He thought that perhaps his heavy tread up the stairs would be warning enough, but when he entered his old bedroom, he saw her weeping, her eyes squeezed shut and still leaking tears, her breathing labored and uneven. He observed her for a moment, taking in the length of her and her face and the sheer vulnerability she was exuding. She wasn't any larger than she'd been their first year, he realized with a start. He'd noticed she'd been rather tall for her age, a passing observation. He noticed things like that, the people around him, their looks and habits and personalities. Even before she'd befriended Bill, he'd noticed her.

She'd been the best of mates with Rowan Khanna, one of the most bookish, inelegant, untalented witches he'd ever met. Brilliant, of course, and actually quite courageous as they'd gotten older, but she'd remained awkward, eager, and socially inept.

Henrietta, less studious but just as gifted, was constantly bugging professors and staff alike for extra tutoring, help with spells, opportunities to learn more to further her own devices. While she didn't always receive the best marks, she had a natural, inborn talent with a wand that few could rival. He'd heard whispers about her in the corridors; first, about her brother. He hadn't given much thought to that. He himself had been prepared to live in the shadow of a glamorous older sibling. Then it had been 'she's cursed, did you hear?', and then it had been her duelling prowess and then her penchant for trouble. She'd been hard not to notice, what with her constant troublemaking. Combined with a pretty face and a penchant for befriending the oddest set of people Charlie could've imagined, it was no wonder she'd been notorious halfway through first year. Even Bill had heard of the Hufflepuff first year girl who had gone from losing them almost all their House Points to winning them the Cup, even as she'd managed to scarcely avoid constant detentions.

Charlie himself was no slouch academically, and had always been willing to do his part for his house, but he'd always preferred exploring or Quidditch practice to being trapped in a classroom for hours. He'd loved Flying and Astronomy, had taken Care of Magical Creatures, anything that had the chance of getting him outside. He'd spent a lot of time with Hagrid, exploring the grounds, or even just playing Gobstones. While he'd been relaxed in everything he did, she'd quickly garnered a reputation for magical aptitude in a way few other students had. Even Snape, his irritation aside, hadn't been able to deny her natural skill in his class, docking her house points less often than he had from anyone else, non-Slytherins notwithstanding..

He'd had a lot of friends (or at least many acquaintances) and that was in part due to Bill's reputation, but he'd mostly kept to himself. He had a few close friends, sure, teammates and classmates, but he'd always been so single-minded, ready to explore and adventure, certain nobody else could keep up with him or his wants.

Socializing came easily to him, but he'd preferred nature. She was the opposite, finding few birds of a feather and preferring to befriend specific people. It was almost a little manipulative, though it amused him to think that, since she was such a genuine person. Perhaps her flaw was merely introversion; it took dire circumstances to break her out of her shell. It was a contrast to Penny Haywood, who'd immediately established herself as the most sought-after, friendly, easy-to-talk-to students in school, pretty and witty and with a good ear.

Entering the room loudly, to let her know he was there, he sat down the tray. She immediately stopped, wiping her face and looking up at him. "Sorry," she croaked. "I'm definitely being a bother. I can probably Apparate out of here-"

"Stuck without your wand, while the dust of a war is still settling. Besides that, you'll have wards up, so you'll have to walk to your flat, and then somehow manage to take care of yourself until the magic fully works to heal you. It could take days, depending on the damage," he finished flatly, but his eyes twinkled. "Stay here until tomorrow, I'll take you home. Fleur and mum'll have a conniption if you don't eat something before you leave, and anyway I did always say Mum would love you as an honorary Weasley, even without the hair."

"Thanks," she said dejectedly. Looking up at him, brown eyes beseeching, she said: "I'm sorry I argued, Charlie, I wasn't thinking - I was being selfish -"

"It's fine," he interrupted, then shook his head. "I keep interrupting. I'm sorry. I'm being a git."

"We've had a... long year," she sighed, and everything Charlie was thinking and feeling seemed to be summed up in one sentence. This year. Last year. The year before, even. They'd all been building up to last night.

"I've missed you," he admitted, helping her sit up, being careful of her obvious pain, and handing her bits of chopped up ham his mother and Fleur had prepared for dinner earlier, when she'd been asleep. "I can't believe it's been so long. It feels like just a few weeks ago you and I were sixth years wandering around Hogsmeade, drinking butterbeers without a care. Or seventh years, panicking over NEWTs."

"Yeah, you've been a real arse," she answered, peevishly. "But since this is the only time I've ever seen you with a bad attitude, I suppose I'll have to forgive you. Also, I highly doubt you've panicked over any test in your life. Except maybe your Apparation test."

He laughed out loud at that, his cheeks flooding with color as he avoided the quip. "You've seen me argue with Bill plenty of times, I'm sure. The pair of us used to go at it in school."

"That's bickering, and it's different from a row or a genuine quarrel. I seem to recall the boy who managed to soothe Merula Snyde like an offended Hippogriff, and ease Ben's many terrors. It was easy to forget you slept in the same room as him for seven years."

A memory flashing through his brain, Charlie inquired, carefully, not wanting to offend or hurt: "Were you and Ben... together?"

Pain and nostalgia and wistfulness and humor all seemed to flash through her at once. Odd, how such a strange facial expression could convey so much. "No. We were friends. I always wondered if he was interested in me like that, though of course he never said a word. He did always say I was his favorite classmate."

"I thought you might've been," he said slowly, then added quickly, teasing her but with a sharp edge to his words. "After all, Bill's been taken for a while now, and even you, and all your trouble seeking ways, don't want to mess with an angry Veela."

She scowled with real indignance at that. "Have we ever met, Charlie, because it sure seems as though you haven't the faintest clue as to who I am or what I'm about. I'm no trouble seeker and I'm no homewrecker. Also, Bill? Gross. Rowan was the one who fancied him."

She was picking at the food with real interest but little action, so he handed her a bit of mash instead, hoping to pique her appetite more. Despite her obvious hunger, she only held the plate, continuing with a little bit of self-recriminating laughter in her eyes. It made him wonder.

"For someone so good with animals, you think you'd be able to read people better."

"Oh, Merlin," Charlie blinked, suddenly feeling quite put out and unsure why. "Not… Barnaby Lee?"

She nearly choked on the small bit of mash she'd finally put in her mouth, spewing it out in her astonishment. "Charlie, you great prat! No! If you really must know, I had quite the interest in you for our last few years of school, though I don't know why you're so bothered about it now. 'Sall ancient history now, after all."

At that, he felt himself - oddly - relax a little at the new information. "Me? Why me? 'Sides the fact that you're the one fascinated by ancient history."

Wryly, Henrietta put the hardly-touched bowl aside, picking with a napkin at the mess she'd made. "Charlie Weasley, you must know you were the absolute dreamiest boy in our year! I always thought so, even before we ever spoke. Seeker? Prefect? Quidditch Captain? Yet still sneaking around and never being caught? Quite the devil-may-care sort of attitude. And that ponytail? Utterly irresistible. Short, redheaded, and handsome, precisely my type."

A little outraged at being called short, despite his perfectly respectable height that was far more impressive than her own stature, Charlie wagged a finger at her. "You knew? I figured you were too busy getting into your own trouble with your little ragtag team of followers."

"First of all, they were not followers. I think Bill would object to that. Also, as you know Penny was by far the most popular girl in our year and beyond, and very few people knew or cared about her talent and passion for Potions," Henrietta defended, as if she'd been fed a similar line before. "Honestly, it must be such a burden being so popular. And sometimes I wonder if Barnaby and Andre even liked me at all, or if it was just force of habit of being around. As for Tulip and Rowan, they are actually quite independent, unique people, as is…"

She trailed off, likely thinking of Tonks. Or Ben. However, before the mood became melancholy or even testy, she finished.

"As for your sneaking about... you told me! I wonder how many times you snuck off to the Forbidden Forest, even after being made a bloody prefect. Everyone had you pegged to go pro Quidditch, y'know, but I knew about your obsession. Made me feel special."

Enjoying himself immensely, Charlie handed her water, which she immediately refused. "I rather like this flattery, mate. Do continue."

Fluttering her short, thick eyelashes, which Charlie had never noticed before this very moment, Henrietta winked. "Well, those freckles helped. And your absurd number of siblings. Two strapping redheads? Then Percy and the twins came along, and any girl worth her salt was salivating at the very idea of so many of you." Whispering conspiratorially, she winked. "Not every girl was lucky enough to know how adorable Ginny and Ron were as well."

"Trying to invent up future children from our fertile stock, eh?" Charlie grinned, and wondered how he'd never truly seen Henrietta before. Of course, he noticed her - hadn't they been the best of mates? Hadn't she been close with Bill before he'd ever even spoken a word to her? Hadn't she been one of the few brave enough to go off adventuring with him, Hufflepuff or not?

She was one of the most inquisitive people he'd ever met, resourceful as a Gryffindor, as discerning as a Ravenclaw. She'd even have done well as a Slytherin, as cunning as she could be. Tonks had always spoken highly of her, and Bill had raved about her from the first moment Charlie had visited him in the hospital wing his second year. Tough, level-headed, compassionate to a fault. Pretty too, but Bill had always thought of her as another little sister, while Charlie had been far too preoccupied for girls.

"Why didn't you ever tell me?" Charlie asked softly, looking at her lips, as chapped and dry as they were. Why hadn't she been honest with him? Had he really been such a fool as to not notice, or had she hid it well? Would he have reciprocated? Internally, he berated himself for being so blind.

"Don't try to soothe me, Weasley," she warned him, but her rebuke lacked venom. "I suppose neither of us was ready, really. We were both rather determined to reach our goals. Besides, if I had tried, there were at least seven Gryffindor girls ready to duel me for your honor."

He laughed outright at that mental image, unable to believe it. "What seemed so important, so time-consuming?" Charlie wondered aloud.

"Well, I don't know about you, but I was trying to find my brother, clear his name, avoid Merula, manage passing marks in all my classes, land a spot with Bill in Egypt, avoid my prefects, who always remained under the impression I was a Slytherin spy dedicated to getting us as many docked house points as possible, and keep Rowan from setting up her bed in the library."

"You were rather bookish yourself," Charlie mused, and she grinned.

"Intellectual, not bookish. Not like Rowan, who was probably half the reason I managed to pass History of Magic. Not even an OWL."

"More like entirely. Hadn't she read all of Hogwarts, A History before first year had even begun?"

"Don't make me laugh, my entire body is aching," Henrietta ordered cheerfully. "Cursed ice or no, I don't think I've ever quite been in this much pain."

"Take a few drops of this," he offered, handing her a bit of Dreamless Sleep from the side table. "All of us took a drop or two last night."

"It hurts to swallow," she admitted, her voice small, as if it were the final straw about to break her back. "And to move my arms. And to sit up."

"Open your mouth," he told her, pulling the stopper out. "I'll do it."

She obeyed, and Charlie, somehow feeling like a voyeur, carefully dripped a small portion into her mouth. She was already asleep by the time he stood up, her hand tightly curled around her napkin.

Looking down upon the tray at the few bites she'd taken, he groaned. Mum would be ready to force-feed Henrietta by morning.


	2. Chapter 2

"Charlie, I can do it myself, I'm fine now. Fed, hydrated, well-rested, sufficiently untraumatized."

"My mum raised a gentleman, 'Rie. C'mon. You haven't even got a wand."

Eventually, after a little bickering and scuffling, and Henrietta questioning the antifeminist purpose of chivalry, they entered her flat. It was small, plain, and distinctly un-lived in, and she seemed embarrassed by the beige walls and lack of personal touch. No wallpaper, no photos, and just a small couch that had obviously come with the rental.

"As soon as I moved in, work was hectic," she explained, coloring a little. "I never even actually fully unpacked. There wasn't really much to put away."

He checked the cabinets. "There's no food in here. You should be on your knees, begging Mum for a weekly package. It'd give her something to do, anyway."

"Okay, first of all, I shop," she defended, sending him an offended look with just a pair of raised brows. "I just haven't slept here in two weeks," she clarified with a small shake of her head, leaving him alone and immediately hopping into the shower. The shoes she left in the middle of the hallway were the only source of clutter, but the place was filthy.

He wondered if the bathroom was any cleaner. He wondered if he actually cared to know the answer. So he sighed and began to fire off a few cleaning spells, trying to make the place less lonely. Even the spiderwebs were abandoned. The Burrow was cluttered, definitely, but this was practically haunted. Seemed more like Grimmauld Place, which he'd been lucky enough to see only once. Grim old place, that house, with more unpleasant memories than floorboards. But he did not want to think of Sirius, didn't want to think of Remus. He especially did not want to think about Tonks. Not now, when it hurt. Later, when it was time to remember the good times. His chest ached a little, but he forced himself to push the thoughts away. Later, he promised himself. There was time to be maudlin later.

Stepping back into the room more rapidly than he'd thought possible, Henrietta had transformed, looking much cleaner and more relaxed than she had fifteen minutes previously. Her hair was dripping wet, but she didn't seem bothered. Which was good. At least the pain she'd been in had gone away. She'd been right as rain at breakfast, answering Hermione's many questions about St. Mungo's and detailing semi-embarrassing stories about Bill for the entertainment of Ginny and Fleur, flinging her breakfast potatoes at Ron with an accuracy that had impressed George and Harry.

Though stories about Bill were only so humiliating - his elder brother had never had an awkward stage - and Ron, with the instincts of a Keeper, actually managed to block her assault once he'd realized where it was coming from. She'd even managed to coax a smile out of Mum with her offer to do the dishes.

They'd stayed until after lunch, where Ginny had insisted on inviting a neighbor, whom Harry and Ginny had paid particular respectful attention to. It was halfway through the meal before Henrietta had realized that this was Luna Lovegood, the same friend that a nine-year-old Ginny had introduced her to. She'd grown, to say the least. She'd been involved in many of Harry Potter's adventures, and apparently her mother had died only days after Henrietta had met them.

The girl was also oddly beautiful; not like Fleur, who glowed with a strange evanescent beauty that was both physical and metaphysical, but airy and feminine with a strangely sharp wit that was belied by her odd mannerisms. She seemed to hold power over most of the Weasleys and even over Harry. It was not a controlling atmosphere, but one of reverence, though Hermione, for her part, seemed rather untouched by it. The same way Fleur's allure seemed to dim everyone in her shadow, eclipsing them, Luna's eccentric aura seemed to dim Hermione, making her seem harsher, despite their obvious familiarity. Friends who didn't much like one another weren't unfamiliar to Henrietta, though she puzzled at what she might be missing. It seemed to her as though Luna was a young woman of many depths; a question led to more questions, and she resolved to get to know the girl better.

"Why don't you sleep here?" Charlie wondered, sitting on the small couch. He'd unpacked the basket of food his mum had sent with them. "I mean, it seems like the Shrieking Shack would be more comfortable, but you pay to live here." There was no table to put his feet, no books or magazines. Not even a wireless. The Weasley family's wireless was one of their most precious belongings. Except during Christmas, when Mum commandeered it and constantly played Celestina Warbeck.

"Work has been... unbelievably hectic," she shook her head wearily, as if the very reminder sapped her energy. "Constant. Everywhere you look, Muggle-borns have been cursed or hexed and need immediate attention. Then they tried to pass a new legislation saying Muggles can't be healed, even after the nastier curses or contact with hexed items, that they'd send officers out to make it look like a non-magical scenario, car accidents and explosions. It's ridiculous, and it's a total death sentence for these people and they don't even understand why, and these people are so incompetent that half the time they end up cursing themselves while trying to figure out what happened and how to cover it up properly. Then we have to heal Death Eaters or their cohorts from the same curses that injured the Muggles to begin with!"

Continuing on that vein for a while, he studied her, swept up in passion and righteous fury. In their youth, he'd always quizzed her, asking her questions about his family, or his dragons, testing to make sure she was genuinely listening to him when he spoke. So often, he felt as though he'd been tuned out. Understandably, since his three favorite subjects had been magical creatures, Quidditch, and his family. Belatedly, he realized he rarely let her speak about her own interests. She'd always been a mirror for other people, allowing them to reflect off her. What sort of friend was he?

"Tell me more about your work with the Order," he invited, while she ran a comb through her wet hair. "How did you learn about it? Your parents don't have much to do with it, do they?" He was singularly unwilling to ask about her brother. It had caused her too much distress already. He had caused her too much distress. Her family was a sore subject, and she generally refrained from discussing them. At least with him. If she confided in Bill, Bill was an excellent secret-keeper. But they'd known one another long enough and well enough that the pair of them practically had their own language. It would have been enough to make Fleur jealous, Charlie mused, if Henrietta, via owl, hadn't early established herself as one of Fleur's champions, though the pair weren't particularly well-acquainted.

"Tonks, obviously, though I wasn't so much in the Order as working sidelong with them. I said before that Rowan was like an informant to me. She has research skills most people could never dream of. She somehow devised a way to spy on the border patrol, figuring out patterns in security, when it was heightened and where, and why, and when it was decreased," she smiled proudly. "It was down to an exact science. Honestly, it was brilliant, I'm still not quite sure how she managed it, and she's explained it to me several times. So when Muggleborns were ready to leave intensive care, rather than letting them be escorted out by Death Eaters - likely to Azkaban or even just to their deaths, we smuggled them out. Of course, we never could've dreamed of doing it without the Order's help," she said, and elucidated. "Someone from the Order would take a Polyjuice potion and help me get them out of there. It was a bloody constant job, honestly, because it's difficult to tell who's actually themselves, and people don't exit hospitals in groups. Safehouses had to be arranged as well."

Riveted by the detail, Charlie leaned forward while she elaborated on the inner-workings of the Order. It was a little awing, what they'd done. The level of attention to detail required was heart-stopping.

"Fred and George did a lot of those missions, actually, though I had little contact with them except for making them sign discharge papers. There was always a codeword - it changed often, always on Potterwatch," she grinned wryly. "It became almost a game. They'd find the oddest words and find ways to slip them into casual conversation. Tonks was usually good for it too, though her Auror duties sometimes interfered, and then her pregnancy."

Becoming serious again, and yanking at a particularly troublesome knot tangled in her hair, she looked up at him. He realized, too late, that he should've offered to do a drying spell on her hair.

"It was dangerous work. For everyone involved. For your brothers, for Rowan. The borders were watched, Apparation is tracked, portkeys are closely monitored. The Ministry can see every move. Getting portkeys licensed just became more and more difficult, and a lot of the travelling was on foot or by broom. Most of those people were hardly well enough to wipe their own arses, after the ordeals they'd been through, and they'd be faced with potentially dying. Being chased, or duelling with people who want you dead... some people didn't want to do it. They were scared. Too scared to escape." Her voice tapered off, remembering. Charlie shuddered at the thought. People so frightened they wouldn't even attempt to save their own lives, or so deluded into trusting the Ministry that they'd allow themselves to die. "They could hardly stand, some of them had their wands confiscated or broken already, and they were terrified. We'd have to Obliviate them and let them make their choice. You can't force people to accept freedom. You can't force them to live or die in a way they don't want to. Even when you know it isn't right."

"You could've been caught," Charlie observed, finding it odd that his throat suddenly felt swollen, his voice low. He was in physical pain, his muscles tight and his eyes and throat burning, lungs constricting. "A million times over. Bloody foolish, that was. Whether it was Death Eaters or a loudmouth foreigner who doesn't know just what damage was going on politically."

They sat for a moment, absorbing that. Obviously it had been dangerous. Obviously she could've been caught. They all lived in danger every day. Charlie was at risk of being burnt, gored, or crushed. They could've all been turned in as blood traitors. They might've died during the Final Battle. They could die in a few hours. What did it matter, so long as their lives had meant something? He watched her, struggling with her long, damp hair, her eyes faraway.

"I tried to smuggle Ben out, but he refused," she admitted, her voice so faint that he knelt forward to hear her, his ear next to her mouth. She stared at his chest. "Before the Ministry really fell. He said he'd stay, to try and help any way he could. We were fighting about it - the day of… the day of Bill's wedding. I was tired… so tired, Charlie," she let her mouth hang open a little, showing her teeth. They needled at her lower lip a little. "I said things that I shouldn't've. It had been such a hard day. But he was strong 'till the end. And he suffered for that. He suffered for the sake of bravery and little else. It seems so pointless now... We would've gotten the same result if he'd agreed in that very moment. He was doomed simply for existing, Charlie, and the principle of it is irrelevant now, isn't it?"

In true Gryffindor fashion, she wanted to say to Charlie, his eyes so soft and understanding. Braver for that he was always frightened. The cowardly boy they'd known had grown, and he had probably died for it. Henrietta began to cry for the second time in two days, and Charlie stood, wrapping his arms around her as she began to dissolve into heavy sobs, breaking down entirely as she recounted the past year and a half of her life. He held her so closely he felt that he wasn't quite sure where she began and he ended, that her crying would be his tears too.

"It's not fair," she railed, leaving a wet mark against his chest. "He was always so frightened. Of everything. He was so scared but he wanted to help anyway! Because he knew it was the right thing to do. And now he's probably dead, and so is Tonks, and Remus, and Fred! And all those kids, Charlie!"

He felt the dam of his own emotions strain against the weight of her tears, his heart breaking as she clung to him. "I know," he said hoarsely, knowing his words meant little, hoping his embrace could do more. He ran his hands across her back, pressing her as tightly as he could without breaking her in half. He gripped her as though she were a baby dragon he were wrestling with, holding her with all the strength in his body, trying to contain the emotion that threatened to erupt.

"I just imagine Bill, or you, or Rowan having to face Death Eaters in the same hallways that you were supposed to be safest in. Facing Barnaby… or Merula Snyde," she whispered, her breath hot against his chest, trembling with the effort to not break. "Or the bloody Minister. Or your own teachers."

He clutched her like she was the only thing that could keep him from falling over, like his balance in the universe was solely dependent on his grip on this crying witch, and her hair was sopping and cold against his arms. Nothing made sense because it wasn't supposed to. The lines between pureness and purity were not evenly drawn, and shadows needed light, and dragonfire burned like ice, and Tonks was dead. Purity was not clean and mud was not evil and choosing death was sometimes brave and refusing to participate did not mean wisdom and choosing life was sometimes brave and sometimes all of those things meant cowardice. And sometimes cowardice was not a sin. He was tired of ultimatums, of clean lines and definition. They could be blown apart so easily by the fury of a curse or a falling wall or a government that did not operate like it was supposed to.

"There have just been so many battles," she muttered to his chest, and he felt the vibrations of her voice. "It just never feels like we did enough. To prevent it or to end it. A seventeen-year-old killed him, Charlie, he killed the greatest dark wizard in history. Does anyone ever remember that he's a child? The Boy Who Lived… and he's a boy! We had breakfast with him, Charlie!" she grew a little hysterical, and he soothed her, patting her back and rubbing her shoulders and squeezing her arms, trying to keep her present. "He was so normal! He's dating your sister! Your mother scolded him for his table manners!"

Charlie remembered turning seventeen, and Henrietta and Ben had been with him. He imagined the graduation ceremony turning into a warzone. Or he tried. As hard as he tried, he could not imagine it. "I know," he whispered again, and her keening became incoherent until it slowly petered out and she simply leaned against him, no longer crying but quaking uncontrollably, her body twitching with the force of her emotion. After a few minutes, she began to settle, her weeping waned to quiet shaking, and then even her breathing quieted.

"I'm so sorry, Charlie," she said, more than a little mournfully. "You haven't seen me in years and I'm doing this, and you have just as much to cry about. More, really," she said, trying to force a smile and step away. He did not let her, loosening his grip but still effectively trapping her with his arms. It was his turn. He'd comforted her, and now he just wanted to hold her a little longer. Wanted to be held in return.

He wanted her.

To hold him, he clarified to himself. He'd never suffered from loneliness, but it suddenly felt vital that she hug him back, embrace him with the same strength he'd just held her with. Like he was her anchor in a moment that gravity lost its magical pull, or otters holding hands in repose as the gentle flow of a river sent them down to an unfamiliar setting.

Sensing his intention, she leaned back into him, short and sturdy and fully. Alive. Safe. That was a miracle in itself. They were scarred, but that was okay. That was good. Scars meant there had been a fight. Fight was good.

Gratefully, he let her rest against him, feeling the softness of her robes, worn and familiar, appreciating the tight grip she had around his torso and her cheek against his shoulder. The skin of her forehead was warm against the crook of his neck and shoulder.

"I'm glad Wood found you," he said, the thought of her lying alone next to a dead man enough to send him into a frenzy worse than a Chinese Fireball in heat. He was glad Oliver had found her, because he would have torn down the castle in a fit of fury if he'd seen her lying next to Tonks. Next to his brother. Unconsciously, he shuddered. He was glad she was crying. It meant she was processing what had happened. He didn't think anyone would process Fred's death until after the funeral. He wondered if George ever would.

"Me too," he could feel her rub her temple against his chest, soothing him, but probably also attempting to keep her hair from tickling her face. "I probably would've died if he hadn't. Not being dead is excellent, actually."

"He came to find me," Charlie continued, saying it to her hair. "He hunted me down like a Seeker chases a Snitch. You know the look, you've met that maniacal little bastard."

"Only a few times," she chuckled a little, looking up at him, but it was a weak effort. Her brown eyes were shining, her face puffy and red. "Little isn't a word I'd use to describe that man, anyhow. He's huge. Brawny even. Are we sure he isn't related to Hagrid?"

"It was after the battle, after... Voldemort fell. All he said to me and Bill was 'Highbridge is over there in the corner. Half-dead.'" Charlie grinned at the blend of surprise, fear, delight, and worry that had overcome him in that moment. "I ran over there like my pants were on fire," he said, not exaggerating even a little.

She laughed a little at that, but it was a strained sound. Reserved, like she wasn't sure if laughing was allowed, but strong, as if she'd thought of the funniest thing imaginable but she was in the middle of her NEWTs. Impossible to keep it in but a struggle to let out.

"Really," he insisted cheerfully. "I've been less panicked over dragon skirmishes," he added, trying to coax a real smile from her. Where had she gone, the girl he'd known? Easy, calm, determined. She'd been traumatized, utterly spent from exhaustion and turmoil. It was wrong of him to expect her to be the same as she'd been their seventh year. But still, he wondered what she was like when she wasn't in the aftermath of a battle that had decided the fate of the wizarding world. Was she still so deadpan? Did she have the same smug look about her when she was feeling particularly accomplished?

Was he as different as she was? Had anyone stayed the same? Was it even possible? Time marched inexorably on, and even time-turners could not change truths once they were known.

"He was right," she pointed out. "I think he truly thought I was dead when he found me. He dug me out of a broken corridor."

"The only reason Bill didn't climb over the head of every person in there is because Fleur was injured," Charlie finished, his heart swelling with love and pride at the thought of Bill, who'd so clearly wanted to rush over, losing a little bit of that facade of 'cool' he'd always worn so easily. Fleur and Henrietta were two witches who'd always managed to break that side of his brother, bring out the dopey sap in him.

Since Bill was incapable, Charlie had done just that, nearly knocking over several celebrating groups of witches and wizards with his broad frame, mindless to everything except Henrietta. While Fleur's injury had been minor, the love between her and his brother was palpable; it was visible in his eyes that he wanted to murder every single Death Eater with his bare hands, then take her pain upon himself. He wouldn't leave her for the world, and had thanked Charlie later for going after their friend. Beloved friend. Best friend, perhaps.

Their similarities in age and their likeness in disposition meant they'd always been close. They'd always felt the pressure to achieve, to be good examples for their siblings, but also the calling to find adventure. Bill would've done the same thing if their positions were reversed, going as a surrogate for his brother. They had an ease of relationship that none of their other siblings had. They were close friends, different enough to carve their own paths but still able to understand one another. The only other two who had anything resembling their symbiotic relationship were the twins, but their identities had always been inextricable from one another's, more codependent than anything else. Charlie supposed he was lucky to have Bill; Percy had always been a loner, and Ron felt his 'youngest brother' status deeply, and Ginny had been everyone's baby girl. They all loved one another deeply, of course, but Charlie counted himself among the luckiest of his brothers.

"Don't exaggerate. I was fine." Henrietta gave him one of her signature facial expressions, her forehead tilted back and her eyes narrowed, with her mouth pouting and curious, nose flaring.

"You were not," he contradicted merrily. "You looked worse than the twins that time their first year-"

"When they 'accidentally' blew up three packs of Exploding Snap in Potions," they finished together, and Henrietta chortled, an ugly, unmelodious sound that filled him up with happiness to hear. Then they quieted. Because the twins would no longer ever be the twins.

"I've missed you," he told her again, partly because he meant it and partially because he wanted something to say. To fill the silence. It was an easy silence, but he'd spent too long without hearing her voice.

"You keep saying that, but sooner or later, you'll jet off to Romania on your broom without so much as an owl, and don't say you won't. Worst corresponder I've ever met," she said, and he could picture her mutinous expression, feeling her face morph against his robes.

Charlie only looked sheepish, and she stepped away, shaking her head at him, her mannerisms normal and her face swollen.

"C'mon, then, when are you leaving really?"

"Maybe a month. Probably less," he hedged. "Though if the family needs me, I'll put it off. They'll be fine without me for a while at the Sanctuary."

"So, as soon as possible?"

"Yeah," he admitted, grinning. "I love it. I can't wait to get back."

Henrietta gave him the same soft, easy smile she wore whenever she had gotten the answer right in Transfiguration class, or managed a new charm for the first time. It was an expression full of muted pride. He hadn't felt its quiet warmth in many years, and it made him wistful. "I'm happy for you, Charlie. But I'll miss you too. Now," she said briskly. "I need to pop off to Rowan's, make sure she's alright. Then I have to go to St. Mungo's and see if they terminated my contract. Then I'll have to go to Gringotts and get a new one."

"What if they don't terminate it?" Charlie asked stupidly, not quite following her train of thought.

"If they don't, I will," she answered bluntly. "I need to get out of here m'self, Charlie, whether I want to or not. Curse-breaking is invigorating, it's fun, it's spontaneity and thinking on your feet, bringing home treasure and history. It's learning new spells and new concepts every day, staying active and seeing beautiful, powerful things. Old magic... it's indescribable. Curse-breaking at St. Mungo's is depressing, monotonous work, and honestly, I'm exhausted and rather well-off by this point. Even if the goblins don't give me a new assignation - which they will, since they weren't keen on me going to St. Mungo's anyway - I could use a long vacation. Maybe travel a bit. Fleur'd love it if I went to France. She'd said at breakfast she hasn't seen Gabrielle in far too long."

Charlie couldn't argue with that. Though an idea began to percolate in his mind, and he just needed to phrase it properly, to entice her without pressuring her.

"Come to Romania," he invited indelicately.

Her brows raised and her mouth quirked. "Charlie, I don't know the first thing about dragons, and that includes not dying. Thanks for the offer, but I prefer my eyebrows not singed off."

"Listen, there's a lot of abandoned castles out there that Gringotts is beginning to explore," he wheedled, seeing the spark of interest in her eye and pushing. "It's a new initiative they began a while back but discontinued with the war. You'd be fulfilling your passion and you'd be close enough to Apparate back to my place. It's a real cabin, as well, and we can easily upgrade it. Not as hot as Egypt. A whole new environment to study in... and you'd see my dragons."

"Are you suggesting we move in together on the basis of showing me highly dangerous creatures I'm not even slightly qualified to handle?" she raised a brow, but did not seem adverse so much as confused. "Charlie, we haven't spoken in years. For all we know, we'd hate one another. Perhaps I'm supremely annoying and cramp your style. Maybe I think you're an neat-freak and blow my brains out."

"You couldn't have ever changed enough for me to not adore you," he assured her with a grin. "And I believe I am uniquely unhateable. Not sure if it's the strapping good looks or my incredible personality. Besides, if it turns out we're incompatible, which I doubt, you can easily get a new place, even if it's round the Sanctuary. They're constantly rebuilding and upgrading."

"You're bloody barmy," she told him, but he could see she wasn't totally adverse. There was an ease to her statement; her rejections were never final when they were serious, they were thoughtful and slow. Flat-out denials meant she could be convinced. "Your mum would have kittens, and-"

"Bugger every excuse you've got," he declared, though she was right about his mum and he would make very sure not to inform her of that particular detail. "You're coming to Romania. You don't even have to stay long, but it'll be nice to have friends nearby. You can leave whenever you want. Just come for a few weeks. Explore a castle or two. You'll fall in love, I'm calling it now. You need a new challenge. You aren't good with stagnation. You did Egypt beautifully, then you helped save the world. Now you're due for a bit more fun."

Her expression morphed into something he couldn't quite define. He couldn't read if it was compassion, wistfulness, sadness, or even just thoughtful curiosity. "You're probably right, Charlie. I'll have a go at it."

"Don't do it out of pity," he urged, unsure if he liked the expression stealing across her face. "Do it because you like me, and I want you to. You moved to ruddy Africa to pal around with Bill, now come to Romania with me." He grinned. "Next you can help George run the joke shop. Make you a Weasley by trade, even if not by coloring."

Back to confused. Henrietta looked up at him. "This rather sudden, Charlie. What do you even mean?"

Running a hand through his head, he tried to explain what he hadn't even yet explicitly considered. Now that he'd said it aloud, it felt like the right thing to do, and he didn't understand why she couldn't see it. He'd never wanted anyone from his life here to come to Romania, and he was feeling urgent now that she didn't seem to be receptive to the idea. Charlie was good at compartmentalizing. Family was in one box, neatly tied away. Dragons were in another. Girls in a third, and mates in a fourth. He'd never brought a girl home, with the exception of Tonks or Henrietta, and he was a brutal manager at work, with no time for games or politics. He disliked messiness and carnage.

"You were my best friend in school," he began slowly, working it over in his own mind. "Probably the best friend I've ever had, except for Tonks, of course. You're an adventurer at heart, but even-keeled, which is a good quality. Don't think I've ever met someone with such a lack of temper." After living with his family, the less likely to explode in fits of fury the better. Same went for dragons, who were liable to eat a fellow for waking them up from a nap. "You're smart, brilliant really. You're kind," he realized he was rambling, and felt a bit foolish, but as he continued, he only strengthened his resolve and his position on the matter.

He'd always hated when people referred to one another as 'kind'. It felt like a cop-out, a weak word, a placeholder for people who lacked strength of character. But it felt right, saying it to her, and he meant it with the most vehemence he could summon. She was kind when it was easier to be snippy or morose. She was good to others when they didn't deserve it. When she didn't particularly want to be. When it was necessary, and when it wasn't. That was the mark of a true Hufflepuff. Being good even when it didn't feel good. That's why she and Tonks got along. Tonks, constantly joking and pranking and goofing off, always skiving off class, was true to herself and accepting of others, their good qualities and their flaws.

With his train of thought, he'd just changed the meaning of the word in his heart forever. Kind didn't mean malleable, passive, lukewarm. Kindness was difficult and treacherous, and it was chosen. Hufflepuff wasn't the boring house; it was the house of righteousness, far more than Gryffindor ever was.

"And I…" he realized he'd trailed off, leaving her with an obviously unconvinced set of her mouth. "Well, I-" Frustrated at his inability to find words that weren't blathering rambles, he leaned down impulsively, gripping her shoulders with perhaps a little too much force, and kissing the bewilderment off her lips.

It had been a long time since Charlie had kissed anyone, and if he was being honest with himself, he was a little nervous that she'd hex him for his trouble and never speak to him again. That would have been the worst case scenario. Rejection... and a well-placed Flipendo. He forgot she didn't have her wand, that she'd never harm anyone on purpose.

He forgot everything, because to his absolute delight, she responded, utterly melting his brain. It took her a split second that felt like years. She was good at processing. So was he, and he felt every beat of her heart until she chose her reaction. Her hands moved up to his neck and jaw, angling him better, leaning on tiptoe to reach him more comfortably. The movement sent goosepimples down his arms and legs. She tasted like the butterbeer she'd had after lunch, nicked from Ron, who deserved it after all the bloody thieving he did from others' plates.

Her lips were dry, but her mouth was warm and moist and he did not want to let go of her, not when she'd just leaned against him and taken more control of the kiss. Unable to tear himself away, he wrapped his arms around her waist, encouraging her closeness. She felt soft and slightly damp and smelled incredible. Her soap smelled like lime, in that overly-processed, unnatural, pungent way, and it was delicious. Fresh, clean, sweet and tangy. He wondered vaguely what kind of potion it was - it was intoxicating. Was it new? Had she always smelled like this?

He didn't want to let go. He did though, pushing for as long as he could until he knew he had to stop. Before he did something that really would get him hexed.

Breaking away, he apologized, feeling his face redden in the same unflattering shade he'd seen on Ginny a million times. Suddenly, he felt very aware of what had just happened. His heart was thrumming in his ears. He felt hot all over. He felt his blood surging south and stepped away a little bit.

"Yeah, I wish you'd given me some warning on that," she chided him, but her expression was a little bit soft, a little dreamy, and that made him hopeful, preening like a dragon who'd just hatched a dozen eggs. "Why did you do that?"

Her hand traveled slowly to her mouth, touching it, as if verifying that the moment hadn't been a daydream. He'd left them tender and swollen. It made him want to do that again, to memorize their texture and consistency. Were her lips lush and malleable or were they lean and strong? How would they fit in his mouth? What did her tongue like to do?

"I've been thinking of it ever since I remembered telling you how you should be a Weasley," he admitted, unabashed and unashamed, secure in his decision. "It just got stuck in my head. I don't know why I didn't do it sooner, really."

The look on her face only cemented that bit of self-recrimination. He should've done it a decade ago.

"So that's why you want me to come to Romania, so you can have your way with me," she teased, eyes widening in mock-surprise to hide her actual surprise. "Well, I should be flattered your intentions are honorable." Then she looked dumbstruck as an idea came to her. "Charlie… have you ever been with a girl?"

"Very few," he confessed, still unembarrassed. This was Henrietta - she'd seen him and Bill practically tackling one another over quibbles about Quidditch or care packages, had half-guided him through adolescence, had once comforted him as he'd cried over an elderly owl that had died, and never ever made situations awkward. It was a rare talent, he realized suddenly, that was probably a side-along gift of her kindness. She had the ability to make people comfortable around her, and her wide eyes were never judgmental, always open and willing to accept what she was seeing. "Suffice to say few have piqued my interest. Though if you prefer lads with more experience, I'll owl those Gryffindor girls straight away. For research purposes. One of them wouldn't have happened to be Lascivia Sybaris, would they?" he joked hopefully.

"Again, flattering," she said, eyes twinkling. Those bruised-looking lips quirked. "What an offer. To get Laci's leftovers. Really, absolutely corking, mate. This may be the opportunity of a lifetime. How could I say no?" Before he could respond, she turned her gaze up to him, pinkening a little herself. "Can I... kiss you again?"

Flushing a little at the question, he nodded, and she took the lead this time, different from what he'd done, nipping at his lips and using her tongue and essentially sending Charlie over the moon with each little scrape of her teeth and suckling against his lips. Even if he hadn't been so delighted by what she was doing, he would've been blissful over the fact that she'd initiated it. She'd wanted it, just as he had.

"You're a better kisser than I am," he complimented her, burying his face into her neck, unwilling to let go and unwilling to push his luck. "All those suitors, huh?"

"I've probably had a bit more practice than you've had," she reminded him straightforwardly. "I've had a few boyfriends."

"None of them worked out?"

She blew a sigh heavily. "They all broke it off for the same reason."

"What reason?" Charlie wondered aloud, suddenly overwhelmed with annoyance. How could anyone find her anything other than enchanting?

She shrugged, looking genuinely uncomfortable for the first time, even moreso than when they'd been discussing Lee the day before. "Can we talk about this another time?"

"Do you want me to go?" he offered, wanting to maintain the happiness of the past few moments, to wrap them into a Pensieve and visit it again, untainted by the tragedy around them. For a moment, his mind had been away from the war. It was precious.

"No, come see Rowan," she urged. "It'll make her day. She goes a little stir-crazy sometimes. She's hardly left her room since before the war. Terrible idea for her to have moved from her parents. She gets virtually no contact with humans."

Smiling down at her, he agreed, and she held his arm, Apparating with a pop.

"Where are we?" he wanted to know. It was a barren-looking place, with dead grass and little shrubbery.

"Near Upper Flagley," she explained, and began striding towards a small house. A very small house, that appeared to grow smaller the closer they got. Brown, beaten wood contrasted with the lovely sky overhead.

"How does she fit her books in there?" Charlie wanted to know. The cabin was small and shoddily constructed, hardly large enough to be an outhouse, and definitely allowing in drafts and the wet.

"That's a rubbish question and I refuse to answer it," she said, deadpan, and he grinned. She opened the door easily, no wand or unlocking required, and stuck her head in the door. "Oi! Rowan! Put some trousers on, I'm here with Charlie Weasley and he doesn't want to see your knickers."

"No Bill?" came a disappointed, disembodied voice from deep within the shack.

"No, and no Gilderoy Lockhart either," she turned to Charlie. "Be cautious now. Mind the steps."

She disappeared into the shack, and Charlie nodded, carefully stepping into the cabin. Immediately, he realized that the building was really more of a cover. Rowan lived underground, and likely it was the size of a small stadium.

As he descended, he realized he'd been correct. Brightly lit, and strewn with Hufflepuff house colors, various houseplants, and more books than were in the Hogwarts library, Rowan Khanna was living in her own personal heaven, with nobody to naysay her or to give her reason to dress appropriately.

"Charlie!" Rowan crowed, nearly tripping over a pile of books in her excitement. She hadn't taken Henrietta's advice to put on more clothing.

Not that he minded.

The years had treated Rowan Khanna excellently. While Henrietta was practically the same height as she'd been at age eleven, Rowan had become quite statuesque, with long, shapely legs left uncovered by a loose robe . A forehead that had once been too large was covered with a thick fringe, and she'd swapped her glasses for a more flattering pair. Her cheekbones had come to prominence, and the nose that had once been too large for her face had become an elegant feature in an overall lovely face. Acne had been replaced by a smooth complexion, and while she was in obvious disarray, she still was… honestly, very fetching. It was a shocking transformation. He couldn't help but stare.

"Blokes," Henrietta said wisely to Rowan. "Told you clothes were a good idea. Don't hug him now, mind."

"I thought Charlie of all people wouldn't be bothered," Rowan sighed, adjusting her glasses and stepping away. "And I lost my last clean pair. You know I'm rubbish at cleaning spells. I was just having a bit of a lie-in when you came. What's new with you, Henrietta? I heard the war is over!"

"Have you left the house yet?" Henrietta asked, calm and even compared to Rowan's blighted chattering. "Charlie, make yourself useful and run some cleaning spells."

"Where's your wand?" Rowan wanted to know.

"Lost in the battle," she answered grimly, and Rowan shook her head in understanding.

Unlike most other people Charlie had seen lately, Rowan Khanna seemed absolutely untouched by the horrors of war. It was a little disconcerting, a little comforting, and a little irritating. She'd never been a coward, but she wasn't good for direct action, and her ability with a wand left something to be desired. That she'd holed away for the past year meant she'd missed a good deal of the trauma that had been inflicted on the wizarding world. She'd made herself useful, that was clear, had assisted Henrietta and thus the Order, and behind-the-scenes machinations were just as vital to a victory as outright rebellion... but he couldn't help be bothered. Perhaps it was a sense of superiority? Or anger? Jealousy? He couldn't quite define the emotion that tainted his state of mind. How could he resent her for hiding when almost everyone had done it? Yet he envied her for her innocence.

The two girls chattered as Charlie made quick work of the messy hidey-hole, lost in his own thoughts. The room seemed to change size and shape as he put books and scrolls neatly away, spelled clean clothing to fold itself and disappear into trunks, and Vanished the rubbish. It was quite fascinating, reminding him of his father's old tents.

"Ben made it for us," Rowan had said, and Charlie only half listened after that, once again thrown into the lurch of reminiscence. "And I've managed to track down Andre - he's going to be coming home soon. I haven't been able to locate Penny but the news should be so widespread soon that she'll hear about it and come home. Tulip was released from Azkaban - a few weeks after that close encounter, she'd stirred up trouble again. Did you hear they're debating the use of Dementors at the prison? Saying it's inhumane. Can't say I disagree. Even for Death Eaters. Those creatures are nightmarish."

Only half listening, Charlie's mind wandered to Sirius, to Remus and Tonks. To Xenophilius Lovegood, who'd been imprisoned in Azkaban as well, according to Luna's offhand comment.

"That's not a bad idea, but where will they go? It'll be a rampage out here."

"I was researching what the Dementors did before Azkaban," Rowan continued enthusiastically, reaching around for her books, seeming to recognize them by touch. "There were hundreds of Muggle attacks, even attacks on wizards. Azkaban was the only possible truce we could consider. They resided there from way back, and -"

Rowan began to educate them both about the history of the island and Dementors, which was apparently more brutal and horrifying than historians would discuss. The conversation only seemed to increase his feeling of unhappiness, and he was grateful when Rowan stood, declaring she'd need to venture out for some new books, now that it was safe, perhaps something that could help her locate Penny.

By the time they'd all Apparated to Diagon Alley, Charlie was relieved to see the now-clothed Rowan go on her own way.

"How can you stand it?" he murmured to her, and she looked a little tired as she glanced up, trying to figure out what to say to him. Maybe: Rowan's my oldest friend. Or: She's stayed by my side when I've had nothing else, although she's a bit of a chatterbox and can be a little insensitive. I know you probably don't understand the way she's lived her life of late. There was also: Rowan's parents thought she might be a Squib until she got her letter, she's got virtually no magical aptitude. She helped the cause immensely, and she endangered herself on multiple occasions to help others. The most important: She's loyal to a fault.

She didn't want to say all of those things. She wished he could simply understand. So she merely said "You don't actually know her very well." That was true enough.

Together, they strode into Gringotts. It was pandemonium in the main hall, but Henrietta pulled him to a subtle side door, whisking them away from the crowds.

"Wow," he said. "That seemed awful."

"Yeah," she smirked. "Bill's in there, dealing with that. Fleur too, probably."

Charlie stared at her before barking out a laugh. Grinning back, she dragged him down a series of hallways, where goblins frowned at him. Henrietta's expression was stoic. There were whispers in Gobbledegook, and occasionally he saw Henrietta's head turn sharply, punctuated by foreign words. It was an incredibly difficult language to master. Even Bill could only manage a few phrases. Did she speak it?

They'd ended up in an abandoned room, with empty desks strewn with paperwork.

"All of them are probably out dealing with the state of emergency," she said grimly.

"Can you speak Gobbledegook?" Charlie demanded, not focusing on the internal state of affairs at the bank. If she could, that'd be an incredible accomplishment, and yet another thing he didn't know about her.

"Only a couple of words. You can't work around here for long and not pick up a few things. It's an incredibly complex language, and human throats aren't actually capable of making all the required sounds," she said absently, moving to a desk and fiddling with it, clicking her teeth in annoyance when it didn't budge. "I can't get in here without my wand. Stay here. I mean it. I'll have to go get my supervisor."

She disappeared out another door, and Charlie stood awkwardly, rubbing a hand on his neck. A few moments passed, with goblins and humans alike stopping in, staring at him, and exiting. Not a friendly place to work, Gringotts.

After an interminably long time, she returned, following a small female goblin, who, with a mere wave of her hand and hardly a glance at Charlie, opened the locked desk, reaching in and handing Henrietta several filed pieces of paper and a scroll.

"What is he doing here?" she wanted to know, her voice low and slow and hoarse, as if she had not spoken in a very long time. "He is a stranger to us."

"He is kin to Bill Weasley, and we will depart soon," Henrietta soothed, her tone respectful and subservient. "I came for reassignment."

That seemed to amuse the creature, and she fixed Charlie with her powerful stare before returning her gaze to Henrietta. "Your letter of termination came in from St. Mungo's today. You will be reassigned within the week."

"What about Romania?" Charlie blurted to the goblin, who did not even look at him this time.

"His insolence will be noted," she said, still speaking only to Henrietta.

"He's ignorant," Henrietta dismissed, and murmured something in Gobbledegook.

The goblin nodded, responding back in a flow of strangely lilting words and guttural, throaty sounds.

"Thank you, Rilnak," Henrietta said fervently, and the goblin departed.

"What just happened?"

"I told her you were an idiot wizard with no sense of respect," Henrietta grinned impishly, and he rolled his eyes. "But... then she said she'd get me the position in Romania. Not many people want to go there, it seems. Not as glamorous as Egypt. And far too many dragons. Seems to be a health hazard to most, though I can't imagine why."

Charlie whooped and wrapped his arms around her, lifting her a little in his excitement. She laughed aloud at his uncontained, infectious joy, a moment untouched by pain. "C'mon," he said. "If we're in Diagon Alley, we'll pop by George's shop."

They exited quickly, avoiding the rush of the masses in Gringotts. In comparison, the rest of Diagon Alley was nearly abandoned. The school year rush was weeks away, and with the war having ended hardly two days ago, there was no sign of either side, with the except of essential employees.

They meandered slowly down the street, chatting about old memories. When they'd reached George's shop, Charlie pulled out his wand and the door accepted him.

The place was in shambles. It had clearly been searched multiple times over, and there was a huge mess of potions over the floors, with shattered glass everywhere and an odd smell rising. It was smoky, like dragon smoke before the beasts really got shirty, which was odd, since there'd be no reason for that smell to be anywhere near England, and the strong scent of fresh air through trees, which was just as odd since this place had been locked up since Fred and George had gone into hiding and should be utterly stagnant. There was something else... something citrusy, perhaps.

"I thought you said George was here," Henrietta jerked back from the fragrance. "That's definitely some diluted form of Amortentia. Do they use it in their products?" she wanted to know in disbelief, but Charlie had no answer. "Can we get to his flat from the outside? I definitely don't want to step in love potion. Or anything else they've cooked up in here."

"He was supposed to be," Charlie mused. "Perhaps he's still 'round the Burrow. We can try though. He'll probably need a hand with Vanishing all this."

He took her to the back, where there was a small, hidden staircase, and up through a private door. He unlocked it easily, and they stepped inside. It was a bit airier in here, though just as cluttered with debris, though it seemed more purposeful than the chaos of the shop. Mess in the name of decor, as it was.

"George?" Charlie called cautiously. "You in here?"

There was no response, but they stepped in anyways. It was a small flat, far more brightly-colored and lived in than Henrietta's own. Though there was no response, she saw a slight movement of ginger hair in the corner of her eye, and followed it.

It had been a silencing charm that had kept everything so quiet.

George Weasley was sitting at the corner of a door frame, sobbing, his legs curled into his arm. His face was red and blotchy and though he was crying with gusto, he remained voiceless. Enormous tears rolled down his hot face, and he was sweating from the effort of the emotional release. He didn't even seem to notice them, his eyes clenched shut and his mouth open in silent anguish.

Immediately kneeling down, she took his hand, and he seemed not to notice or recognize her, only clutching back at her hand and continuing to bawl. She looked into the room, saw the leftover jumper with a bright F on the front strewn across a chair, and her heart broke for him. The pain in her chest threatened to cleave her in two, and all of the pain she'd felt seemed to wither and pale compared to what she imagined George Weasley was feeling.

Charlie had dropped to the floor as well, gathering George in his arms as the smaller boy wept, squeezing him tightly, holding him close to his chest and closing his eyes, tears rolling through his clamped eyelids, forcing themselves through. Henrietta felt like she'd intruded on something incredibly precious and private and tragic, but George did not release her hand even as he rolled more tightly into Charlie's embrace, until his crying dissolved into soundless hiccoughs and those slowly ceased, until he simply was lying in Charlie's arms, one hand clutching Henrietta, their palms sweaty and entwined, and his other clutching his wand against Charlie's forearm.

With the wave of his hand and wand, his leftover hiccoughs became loud, and his breathing was heavy. Charlie continued to hold him, rocking a little, and George made no move to release himself, seemingly content in his brother's arms.

"I can't go in there," he said hoarsely, his voice hardly above a whisper.

"You don't have to," Charlie answered, his voice breaking a little bit, matching George's tone. "You don't have to do this yet, George. It's not been two days."

"I had to make sure it was real," George murmured. "It didn't seem real. I thought maybe he'd be in there."

"I know," Charlie said, his tears still coming, his words bringing no comfort but better than silence.

"Sorry," he muttered, releasing Charlie's arm to swipe at his damp face. "Didn't think anyone'd come by here yet."

"We were in the neighborhood," Charlie explained. "Wanted to come give a hand, if you wanted it. Shop's a mess."

"I'm not ready," George shut his eyes again. "What if I'm never ready?"

"You don't have to do anything right now, George. You don't have to decide anything," Charlie soothed, rocking his brother like a child. "We can stay at the Burrow."

"Don't wanna stay there," George piped up, clearing his throat. "Mum's driving me nutters. I'm not... used to that anymore. I'm not used to being alone."

"I could stay here," Charlie offered. "Or Ginny could. Or you could owl Luna, I'm sure she'd enjoy visiting you."

George dismissed that with a shake of his head. Asking for help was one of the hardest bits. He shook his head at Charlie's suggestion of Lee Jordan, of Ron.

"What about Angelina?"

George's face froze over at that, he stiffened. "No," he snapped. "I can't."

"Or Perce?"

"I don't want Ginny, or that git Percy, or even you, Charlie," George burst out, his voice small and childish. "I don't want Ange or Luna. I want Fred. Not Mum, not Ron, not Bill. I want Fred!"

With that he began to heave again with great sobs, but without his silencing charm, the keening that came out of his body as he tried to contain himself was ungodly in its desolation. It sent chills up her back, and she rested a cool hand against George's red face, wishing she could somehow take the pain away from him, away from his family, like a spell to draw out infection. She wished she could even take it upon herself, just to let him breathe for a moment. His behavior at the Burrow and at Hogwarts made sense. He'd been bottling himself up, trying to keep everyone off the scent of his despair.

This bout of tears did not last as long, and exhausted, George slumped against Charlie's strong frame, hardly able to move, content just to sit for a few moments. They did so until George's breathing evened and his eyes closed, sitting together in a pathetic trio.

"C'mon, mate," Charlie cooed to his younger brother as if he were still a child. "Let's get you down for a nap."

"Not a ruddy baby," George murmured back, his voice tapering off. He released Henrietta's hand and let Charlie pick him up, depositing him gently onto his own bed, precisely across the hall from Fred's room. He could see into it from his bed, and she delicately closed Fred's door - not enough to click the lock into place, but enough to block the sight of Fred's old jumper.

She waited for Charlie, who closed George's own door in much the same manner as Fred's. He sighed upon seeing her stricken face, but to his surprise, she approached him and wrapped her arms around him, squeezing tightly.

"We should come back later," Henrietta said to his torso, her voice muffled. "When he's awake. Help him clean. Or just visit, if he wants to stay here."

"You don't have a wand."

"Well, let's Apparate to Hogsmeade and you can summon it for me."

Doing just that, they appeared in the middle of the village, which was far more bustling than Diagon Alley. In the distance, there was construction, partially for the memorial service that would be taking place the following day, and partially for the shattered infrastructure of the school. It took a great deal of magic to fiddle with a place like Hogwarts. The architecture would never again be the same. Perhaps that was a good thing. Sometimes change was good. It would help banish some of the unpleasant memories that resided there.

Raising his wand, Charlie summoned Henrietta's wand. Originally, she'd agreed to wait until the following day, when they'd all be at Hogsmeade together, but this was more important. "Accio, Henrietta's wand."

After a long moment, he caught the whizzing object in his hand with ease. Holding it gravely, he peered at it. "Ah, yes... Miss Highbridge... try this one. Eleven and a half inches, pear, unicorn hair. Pliable"

"It's actually twelve, and acacia," she corrected, snatching it back from him with joy, weighing it in her hand. "Your first wand was the same length."

"A great wand. Not suited for dragon-keeping. Missed it every day for a year, till I got used to mine."

"What do you use now?"

He presented his own, "Spruce, eleven and a quarter inches, dragon heartstring. Springy," he grinned lovingly at the piece. "I gave Ron my old one when I moved to Romania. You can get a new one there, ones made in the area, less susceptible to breakage or burning. It's no Ollivanders wand, but it's better for my life and magical habits now. Difficult not to get attached, isn't it?" he asked, looking at his wand fondly. He'd officially had it for longer than he'd had his first. He'd been put out, at first, that he was to get a new one and retire his old one to Ron. He'd rather have kept it. But it was no good for the life he'd chosen, and the idea of breaking a wand was physically painful to most wizards. These wands were reinforced to survive roughage, the elements.

Of course, Ron had snapped his old one in half when he was twelve, which made it null, but Charlie had tried not to be upset. He wondered if the wand had felt betrayed. His own tingled in his hand at the thought, as if reassuring him. Accidents happened. Wands broke. Wizards died.

She chuckled at his dramatics, and gestured at him with a shoulder. "C'mon, fancy a pint... or six?"

He nodded, thinking about their day thus far. "Desperately."

x

Hours after they'd gone to Hogsmeade, getting properly smashed to the amusement of Aberforth, who'd been filling them in on the rebuilding of Hogwarts and preparation of the memorial ceremony, they stumbled into George's flat, only to see what halfway resembled a party, including Oliver Wood and a few of the people she'd seen congregating around George in the aftermath of the Final Battle.

There were two half empty bottles, one of wine and one of firewhiskey, prominently featured on the little side table, and the wireless was blaring some abhorrent wizard's mediocre vocals. There was laughter too, and Henrietta was fervently grateful they hadn't drunkenly walked into another scene like they had earlier. It was later than she'd realized. They'd clearly dallied in the Hog's Head for hours longer than intended.

"Highbridge!" Wood called, gesturing her over. She obeyed, and he introduced her to the girl beside him, his wide hand casual against the small of her back. "This is Katie Bell. She would've been a first year your seventh year. Katie, this is Henrietta Highbridge, she's an old mate of the Weasley's."

"Pleasure," Katie grinned up at her, her face open and friendly. Then her face contorted into a frown. "Actually, I think I might know you from somewhere. Oh - don't you work at St. Mungo's?"

Henrietta sinkingly recognized her immediately. Katie Bell. She'd been Imperiused and given a cursed necklace, which had nearly killed her on contact, and she'd ended up missing a good deal of the school year. It had been a difficult case, and Henrietta was loathe to remind her. Most people disliked reminders of when they were at their worst.

"Of course, Healer Highbridge," Katie smacked herself with her free hand - the other of which was holding an empty wine glass. "How could I forget?" She seemed cheerful. Bottled cheer, wine was.

"It's usually preferable that way," she admitted, smiling ironically. "I remember you. How have you been?"

"Just graduated," Katie shook her head somberly, switching from cheery to subdued in half a second. "Though considering the state of Hogwarts the past year, I'm not sure if that's a qualification."

"You'll get your NEWTs back soon," Oliver said bracingly. "And you'll be getting the Quidditch callbacks any day now."

Seeing this as her moment to subtly exit the conversation for the toilet, she slipped away as the two devolved back into a more private conversation.

Just as she finished, bracing herself to return to make more odd small talk with people five years younger and three times drunker than she, she was caught in the small hallway by Charlie's larger form, proffering her a glass of wine. She accepted, though she was already tipsy herself. It was an obvious ploy, an excuse to catch her alone for a second. He'd probably wanted to ask her something. His mouth was opened, his eyes darkened, but before he could say anything, he was interrupted by the muffled sound of George snapping at someone.

Henrietta stilled, but Charlie tensed, listening. The direction of his voice came from Fred's room, which seemed like a bad sign.

"Don't do that, Angelina," came George's voice, fraught with irritation, deep with warning. "If I'm being quite frank, it isn't any of your bloody business what I do."

"I'm just saying, George, that you shouldn't be avoiding her. He wouldn't want you to-"

"Just because you snogged him when we were sixteen doesn't mean you bloody well know what he would've wanted to do with his bloody war widow!" George answered back forcefully, and Charlie quickly flicked his wand at the wireless, increasing the volume subtly before George's friends caught on to his show of temper.

Another girl was chatting with Lee Jordan, who was pouring himself another helping of firewhiskey. There was a sense of manic joy there, a forced joviality. Henrietta appreciated that George's friends had come, had helped him clean and brought food and wine and merriment, but she did not belong here. These were not her friends. She was uncomfortable, and she was listening in on a very private conversation. She wriggled to escape, but Charlie was holding her in place, strong even while absent-minded. At least George moved on from his earlier denial.

"That has nothing to do with this! I never snogged him, not once, you gigantic prat, and even if I had, that was four years ago! I only went with Fred because he asked me. I would've sooner gone with you, and you both knew it!"

"Going to say you thought it was me? You hoped it would've been me?" his voice was a little slurred, Henrietta realized, and Charlie loosened his grip on her slightly, realizing he was gripping her too tightly. It had begun to ache a little. "Bollocks, Ange."

Angelina blew out a sigh, clearly trying to redirect the conversation back to its original purpose. "I know exactly who the two of you are. And so does she. She knows you're not him, but that doesn't mean you can shut her out, it's cruel. I can't imagine how I'd feel if it were-"

"Luckily, you don't have to, so I'll bloody well thank you to keep your nose out of it," George answered cruelly, the pain and anger evident in his voice. It made her flinch against Charlie, and he rubbed his thumb against her.

Angelina, her voice sounding small and injured, said: "You're not the only one who hurts, George."

Panicked at their eavesdropping, Henrietta buried her head in Charlie's chest, not realizing how quickly she'd become comfortable with him, underestimating her buzz. Charlie listened intently, ready to intervene if George got violent, unsure how his brother would react under the weight of grief and stress and anger.

"Well, it bloody well feels like that, Angelina." George answered tiredly, a little bit of the crushed mess he'd been earlier showing in his tone.

"Then don't shut her out," she pleaded, her voice cracking. "Don't shut me out. We're friends, George, weren't we?"

"Hoped to be a bit more than that, yeah?" George jibed, his mask fully back in place.

"I was never the one he wanted to be with. And he was never the one I wanted to be with. You know that, George." Her tone was an attempt at soothing him.

George's tone was a little malicious, angry and jeering, sending shivers down Henrietta's arms. "From one twin to the next, Ange? A bit flighty, that. Make up your mind, love... maybe I can accommodate," George's tone transformed into something silky, seductive and sensual but with underlying viciousness.

"For the last time, you great drunken blithering arse, I don't want Fred! I never wanted Fred! We never dated, never did anything besides dance at a bloody ball! It was a bloody lark to him and you know it! Half the reason why he asked me was to make you jealous!"

"Pretty tears," George sneered, and there was a long few moments of silence, where Henrietta wondered which one had strangled the other, a sudden thump, and an enraged, gorgeous witch striding out of the room and out the door, not noticing anyone else in the flat as she departed quietly, not even attracting Oliver's attention as he poured Katie another glass of wine.

The unknown woman looked worried, and Lee Jordan put a restraining hand on her arm, murmuring something to her. She stayed, but the expression knitted on her lovely face did not smooth out.

George then exited his room, his lip bleeding from an obvious bite mark, his face flat and his eyes turbulent. Henrietta's jaw dropped at the sight of him.

"You mucked that one up, little brother," Charlie pointed out unsympathetically.

George sent him a withering glance. "Sod off," he said succinctly.

"What's your issue?" Charlie pressed, although Henrietta was giving him a shocked stare.

"None of your business, you nosy git," George shot back.

"Might end up with a few less lovebites if you don't verbally assault her before you snog her," Charlie continued calmly, seemingly oblivious to George's deepening frown.

"Shut up," George mumbled, deflated. "Took you a decade to get the girl, I don't need your relationship advice, you smarmy bastard."

"Well, take someone's, and do it quickly, before she figures out she deserves better," Charlie said frankly, and George made an offensive gesture before stomping out to follow Angelina, attracting the attention of all of his friends.

"Why did you say that?" Henrietta hissed, rooted to the ground in a mixture of shock and horror and anxiety. It wasn't like Charlie to be confrontational or snide.

"George gets in his head," Charlie explained in a whisper, his voice low and his breath in her ear. "Always has done it. Usually Fred can talk him down, but..."

Henrietta shook her head. "Are they dating?"

Charlie released her, standing back and staring at the door. "Not yet. Probably he fancies her as much as she fancies him, but it's going to be a long, messy road for them both."

"That's a lot to take in," Henrietta observed.

"George is grieving," Charlie answered simply. "He's lost his other half, his business partner, his best friend, his brother. This isn't just a tragedy, but a full-on identity crisis. It's not been two days since he died, Henrietta. It's understandable that he's not okay. He shouldn't be alone. I'm glad his mates recognized that."

"Are you okay?" she asked him, pausing.

Charlie looked into her deep brown eyes, furrowed in concern. She'd lost friends. So had he.

And he'd lost Fred.

His small face flashed in her mind, wheedling and begging for help with his Charms homework. Of course, it was never homework, just a ploy to learn a spell that'd help with a prank he had planned and wanted to keep his brothers off the scent. She'd agreed, of course, and had regretted it when he'd used Ascendio to peek into the Gryffindor girl's dormitory.

"No," he answered honestly. "I'm just better in a pinch. I can compartmentalize. Now isn't the time to fall apart, is it? Not when others need it more."

Awed, Henrietta shook her head. "Not sure that's a healthy mindset."

"Iunno either, but if it means I can keep this family from imploding, I'll accept it," he shrugged.


	3. Chapter 3

It was the international owl pecking at her window that woke her. Blearily, she stood and unlocked the window, handing it a stale treat and offering it some water, just as Charlie had always insisted was proper. She'd never forgotten his lessons in the owlery, even ten years later. Gratefully, the bird nipped at her before drinking deeply.

Stretching and reading the letter, absentmindedly petting the bird that rightfully could have pecked her hand to bits, she smiled.

The owl soon left, leaving her flat quiet again, but Henrietta wasn't bothered. She was used to it, though the image of the particularly large, beautiful brown creature flying into the distance was enough to inspire poetry from her favorite animal-lover. Checking the time, she saw she had hours before having to be at Hogwarts, and she rolled back into her bed, sighing.

After they'd eventually left George's flat, Charlie had left late last night. He'd been distracted, despite his reassurances, and she worried about him. She'd gotten next to no sleep, thinking about the future. Her future. Their future. The future of the entire magical world.

Voldemort's takeover of Britain had not left their magical community in very high standing, according to Charlie. Both Fleur's relatives and friends and Charlie's own recruits had a good deal of disdain for the mess their government had made of the entire situation, the danger it had left the rest of the world in, and the culture that had allowed it to occur. The children she'd been forced to smuggle out, the ancient witches and decrepit wizards... none had suffered more during this war than children. She wondered if they'd all ever be found.

How could it be possible to heal from this? The last war had been eleven years long, and society had never quite recovered. This war had lasted only three, and it felt like she'd lived with it her entire life. Especially when the Chamber of Secrets incident had occurred at Hogwarts… that had been a wake up call. Cursed Vaults and boggarts were nothing to a basilisk.

She'd promised to meet at Rowan's so they could go together. Andre had owled her, promising to be home sometime next week - he was publishing a book on American magical creatures. Conveniently, Henrietta mused, his reentrance to British magical society coincided with the beginning of the Quidditch training season, and she'd overheard Ginny mentioning that Pride of Portree was amongst the teams looking for new members this year. Several Muggleborn players had gone missing.

Every silver lining had a cloud.

She dressed quickly, and Apparated to Rowan's. The other witch was already awake and was bouncing with excitement to return to Hogwarts, claiming that there'd be a need for a new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, and Rowan would be damned if it wasn't her. She'd applied, their second year out of school, but Dumbledore had told her with a twinkling eye that Gilderoy Lockhart had claimed the position, and perhaps she might benefit from waiting a few years after graduation and assembling a resume of sorts.

If it was one curse Rowan disbelieved in, it was the curse of the Defense Against the Dark Arts post. She was certain she'd break it. Or certain Henrietta would. Or the death of You-Know-Who would.

Rowan managed to kill an hour, debating the merits of applying for the uncursed Transfiguration position or the extremely exciting adventure of the Defense Against the Dark Arts job. Living up to the standard of Albus Dumbledore and Minerva McGonagall? She was giddy at the very thought. On the other hand, being the first professor in four decades to hold the DADA job was also irresistible.

Rowan was crushed when Henrietta informed her she'd be transferring, even temporarily, to Romania, citing her loneliness when Henrietta had been in Egypt. Even the news of Andre's return wasn't enough to console her. Rowan was not one easily comforted… until Henrietta reminded her that working at Hogwarts rather disallowed any social life outside the castle.

Dumbledore's gentle rejection had shaken her at the time, but now, Rowan was revving to go, determined to speak to McGonagall and ready to be truly outside for the first time in ages. The pair of them traveled to Hogsmeade and followed the crush of people up to where the ceremony was to be held. Despite how early they were, it was still enormously busy in Hogsmeade, all the way up to the castle grounds.

It was a ridiculously large venue, and even so, it could hardly contain all the people there. She craned her neck, searching around for some familiar faces. Rowan was excitedly chattering to an old Ravenclaw study partner who'd been a year below them, but Henrietta turned, and immediately saw Bill, towering above most of the crowd, his hair shining bright copper in the light. He began to stride towards her, his progress rapid. Likely people gave Fleur space, what with her commanding presence.

She grinned, rocking back on her heels, trying to see, waving a casual goodbye to Rowan's friend whose name she couldn't quite remember.

When he finally made it to her, he clapped an affectionate hand on her shoulder, squeezing tightly, kissing the top of her head in an absent-minded, brotherly gesture, searching around with his eyes. She wasn't sure what he was looking for. Old friends, perhaps.

Fleur hugged her, introducing herself to Rowan, who gawped at the younger woman. The first time Henrietta had met her, she'd had pretty much the same reaction. Even knowing her, and knowing she was part-Veela, the magic was there. Even on a day like this, where there was so much magic and restrained energy, the air itself humming with excitement and grief, Fleur shone as though she were made of light, casting shadows over everyone.

"Charlie is with George back at the Burrow," Bill said, making eye contact for the first time, his eyes soft. "The rest of the family is sitting down already. We saved a few extra chairs for you. How're you, Rowan?"

Rowan, now giving cow's eyes to both Bill and his wife, made a strangled response, and Henrietta trailed the trio as Rowan summoned the bravery to begin speaking… and launched into a monologue. It was actually a fairly interesting information dump on the history of human magic, and how, if traced back enough centuries and millennium, all wizards were descended from magical creatures, thus the reaction of different wands to different strains of magic within people. Fleur was politely attentive at first, but as Rowan gushed, she became more interested in what the older woman had to say, and began contributing to the conversation. Bill eyed them with amusement.

They made their way up to what was quite nearly the very front row of seats. With a bit of budging and scooting and stopping - greeting the Weasleys was a workout in and of itself - Henrietta ended up at the penultimate seat to the left, sandwiched between Rowan and, to her delight and surprise, Luna Lovegood.

The girl was quite zoned out, and she was wearing a butterbeer cap necklace, which she thought privately that Penny might've found rather trendy. She wondered if she was related to Tulip.

"Hello there, Luna," she said to the girl, determined to learn more about her, surmising already that she wasn't the first or last adopted Weasley stray. There'd been herself, Tonks, that Hermione Granger, Harry Potter himself, and apparently Luna.

Rowan shifted to look at her curiously, but continued chattering to Fleur, who was eyeing her with the same odd fascination Henrietta herself was looking at Luna with.

Luna seemed to slowly collect herself before turning slightly, fixing her prominent eyes upon Henrietta carefully. "Hello, Henrietta," she said, her voice soft and mellow, as if she'd just been woken from an intense daydream. "Doesn't that cloud look rather like a niffler to you?"

Eyeing the cloud in question, Henrietta had to agree. "Very niffler-like." Unable to think of anything else to say to the whimsical girl, she offered: "Do you like magical creatures, Luna?"

"Oh, yes," Luna nodded solemnly, wearing a lopsided smile. "I like the seeable and the unseeable. Have you ever seen a thestral?"

"Yes," Henrietta informed her, intrigued by the question.

"Would you like to visit them with me after the ceremony? Not many people can see them. There's quite a few of them in the Forbidden Forest. Sometimes people ask me about them, but usually I visit alone."

"Sure," Henrietta agreed weakly, feeling strange and out of place next to her, wondering if this was how Ron's friend Hermione felt around the otherworldly young woman.

She then silenced her thoughts as McGonagall stepped across the freshly constructed stage before them, wondering what time the Weasleys had arrived in order to guarantee them these seats. Or had they gotten them because of their position in the Order and at the Battle?

Rowan was rapt at the sight of her, having always held her in high esteem. Luna seemed to space out again, but Henrietta, like her oldest friend, could not tear her attention away from McGonagall as she listed the names of each person who had died during the battle. There was some quiet weeping in the ground, some close and some further away, but the newest Headmistress remained strong and stoic, her voice clear and loud across the crowd even as her expression was fraught with sorrow. She called them 'The Fallen Fifty', and Henrietta wondered if Professor Binns would someday teach about them. Likely that History of Magic would never again need a new professor, she mused. That position was just as cursed as the DADA position.

Then Kingsley Shacklebolt recited a speech, about the merits of righteousness and bravery during dark and difficult moments, of remembrance and moving on, or some other such trite observations, probably for the benefit of those who hadn't taken an active role in the war and needed reassurance. As for the Order and adjacents... they already knew that. It was how they'd won the war. She really wished for a few words about the importance of laughter, of the spirit of people like Tonks, or Fred and George, full of mischief and humor and the ability to make people happy even when there was nothing to be happy about. Of normalcy and love during moments when both seemed impossible. Kingsley's words paled a little in comparison to Dumbledore's odd and insightful proclamations, but it hit a chord within those seated.

Henrietta found her attention wandering to Charlie, to wondering how George was doing, to the dinner that Molly had planned for that evening. Andromeda would be there, bringing Teddy. It made Henrietta a little nervous, a little excited. The remainder of the ceremony was spent listing off those who would receive an Order of Merlin for their efforts during the war and the battle, and finished with the announcement that Hogwarts would be reopening in the autumn for all students who wished to return.

There was clapping and hugging and all sorts of chatter, but after the ceremony, Luna simply stood and began walking away. Henrietta followed, shooting Rowan an apologetic glance, but she was determined to find McGonagall and ask about the Defense Against the Dark Arts position. Also, she figured Rowan would be as enamored of Fleur as she was of Bill, and wouldn't be disappointed with Henrietta for ditching. As for those two, she'd see them soon enough. It was freeing, to be able to see her friends, to not worry if each sighting would be the last, to not live within the magically stain-free walls with no windows, wondering when she'd see someone who didn't need lifesaving magical attention.

Luna did not move quickly, but she seemed to almost float, her long hair trailing behind her, swinging like curtains caught in a summer breeze. She moved in the direction of the Forbidden Forest, silently cheerful as they made their way through the peaceful wood until they finally came across the thestrals.

Henrietta's grandfather had died before her eyes when she'd been just five years old. Nothing particularly traumatic - he'd been sick most of her young life, and hospice at St. Mungo's had been a quiet place, with kindly natured staff and soothing plants. Jacob and her mother had just stepped out of the room for a moment to get a drink, but Henrietta had stayed in the room. She didn't even realize he'd died until her mother returned and tearfully called for the Healers. Even then, she hadn't truly understood death, except for her mother's unnecessary promises that Gramps would be in a better place. She'd cried, though only because her mother had brought her pumpkin juice instead of the orange she'd wanted.

Overall, it had been just something that had happened. It had been sad in a detached sort of way, but as a child, she'd lacked the ability to process it. But she'd noticed the thestrals, and soon learned the key to their strangeness. That in itself had been far more sobering than her grandfather's death.

Penny had seen them too, after second year, and while it had taken her a long time to explain why, Henrietta had known something was wrong when she had been jumpy on the ride to Hogwarts, a reaction she'd tried very hard to mask. It had been Charlie who'd explained it to them on the ride to the castle, with some pointed questions from Henrietta. Though he couldn't see them, he had a repertoire of knowledge about magical creatures that rivaled Kettleburn's. Penny had seemed discomfited at that, and this had been weeks before the boggart incident in Herbology.

"They're very gentle," Luna explained absently, reaching out to one. It accepted her hand with the same quiet grace Luna herself exuded. "Those who can see them are often frightened by them."

"I never interacted with them much," Henrietta answered absently, letting one of the creatures nuzzle her hand. "They do seem to be lovely. Bit off-putting in terms of their appearance, but I guess people don't often see them."

"I always wondered if people could have Patronuses that are magical creatures. I've only ever seen nonmagical animals." Luna mused, flipping her cascades of ash blonde hair from her face. "Could someone's Patronus be a thestral? Would people be able to see it?"

"Charlie's is a dragon," Henrietta offered. "I've heard that it's very rare, though. Can you cast a Patronus? That's an impressive bit of magic."

"Oh yes, Harry taught us all my fourth year. My Patronus is a hare. I haven't had much cause to use it, though. I haven't run into any Dementors since my second year, when they had them guarding the castle for Sirius Black. I suppose that's very lucky. They're quite terrible. Though I'm certain Stubby deserved no such treatment. My father was in Azkaban."

Luna had taken off her shoes and was petting the thestral, very gently. It seemed to be enjoying her petting, though Henrietta was certain they were classified as dangerous creatures. They didn't seem to be; she found flobberworms feistier than this creature. Or perhaps it was just Luna's demeanor that reassured it. Her very presence was like a calming potion. She wondered what Luna meant by stubby, and remembered, vaguely, that Sirius Black had been Tonks' cousin, and another Order-adjacent. She'd never met him, only heard whispers. He'd been friends with Remus, too.

"I can't cast one," Henrietta admitted, the one statement she was able to respond to in Luna's odd stream-of-consciousness monologue. It was one of the only spells she'd had permanent trouble with. No matter what memories she'd used, they had either been tainted by other emotions or simply not powerful enough. Even when she'd first arrived in Egypt all those years ago, Bill waiting excitedly to see her for the first time in over a year, with a pair of those hideous dragon fang earrings he'd gotten from Charlie as a gift for her.

It was her happiest memory, and still summoned only a few wisps. She still wore those earrings, but only on special occasions. They were a bit gaudy, but Charlie and Bill swore up and down that they were good luck. She only wore them when she was feeling particularly festive.

"Harry could teach you. He's an excellent teacher. The trick is to think of a particularly vivid memory. Sometimes the Wrackspurts make it difficult, though," she said sympathetically. "Of course, happy thoughts are supposed to help dispel them too, as difficult as it is to manage."

"I don't know… He's probably tired of that sort of thing. I've had people try before. It's not the magic, it's the memory. I dunno if I have a strong enough memory. I'm not one to be swept away in a wave of emotion, good or bad." In some ways, it was her fatal flaw.

"I could teach you, if you like. The Ministry is going to be discontinuing use of Dementors in the prison. Perhaps they mean to put vampires in Azkaban instead? There will probably be a good number of them wandering about... these are uncertain times, don't you think? Or perhaps they'd use heliopaths, though I can't imagine it would be a symbiotic relationship with the Ministry…"

Henrietta watched Luna fascinatedly. She was most definitely someone she'd have befriended while in school. An odd bird, most definitely, but sweet and a little bit wise. She imagined Luna interacting with Merula Snyde, and the image amused her. What the hell was a Wrackspurt? Or a heliopath? The old bully wouldn't have a clue what to so with this one.

"You were injured in the battle," Luna observed, not even looking at her. "Charlie Weasley was worried about you. I don't know him very well, though he seems to be very kind. I went to Bill Weasley's wedding and he came," she said languidly, as if recalling something that had happened a very long time ago. Though she supposed it had. "He even danced with me, which was lovely. The Weasleys all danced with me, including Ginny, of course. But I think I liked Charlie best. He showed me some of the gnomes after Fred stepped on my feet. One bit me. It was rather exciting."

Henrietta agreed. "The Weasley family is full of good people… and excitement."

"You can tell a lot about someone by how they treat other creatures," Luna's voice was blissfully relaxed. "I try to not mind Hermione Granger's bad attitude for that reason. She disbelieves anything she can't prove herself, but she attempted to spearhead a house-elf freedom campaign one year. She gave me a badge. I suppose she's Muggle-born, and that might explain her misunderstandings. I do like the badge, though."

"She seems a little intense," Henrietta admitted. "I've heard she's brilliant, though."

"She is quite clever," Luna agreed, lying on her back in the dirt. "And despite her harshness she is very loyal." The thestral joined her, and Henrietta plopped down next to them. The cool earth felt good against her back, and the sky was a searing blue. A few more clouds skidded.

"That one looks like a butterfly," Henrietta pointed.

"It's nice to make new friends. Do you want to be friends?"

A little stunned by her bluntness, Henrietta grinned to herself. "Sure. I wanted to get to know you a little, I suppose. That picnic was the most fun I've had in ages. I like your wit. It's very… interesting."

"Interesting is a nice word. Most people call me loony, though not as much recently. I suspect it has to do with Ginny. She once hexed boys in class for calling me that. Professor Flitwick didn't take any house points away from Gryffindor for it either, which was nice. The Death Eaters didn't call me Loony either."

Henrietta choked at the nickname and the information. "How'd you get that name?" Obviously, Luna was offbeat, but for a nickname to circulate like that meant she was a little notorious. Was Luna so intensely odd that she had the same sort of fame that Ben's fears or Bill's prowess or Barnaby's strength once had? Famous enough that Death Eaters knew of her? What could they have wanted with a teenage pureblood?

"Fred Weasley gave it to me," she said airily, rolling onto her stomach and tracing a few tree roots with her finger.

"You knew him well?" Henrietta wondered at the second reference to him. She was Ginny's friend, and she lived in the same area as the Weasleys. George had even seemed a little cowed by her, though Henrietta was at a loss to read him. Perhaps he was grieving.

"Not when he gave me the nickname. It was one of his jokes. He was quite famous for them, you know. Which is just as well, since his dancing was terrible."

"Did he ever apologize?" Henrietta pressed, sitting up and admiring the toad-shaped cloud. "That one resembles a dog," she lied, trying to maintain the atmosphere of the odd conversation.

Luna gave it an intense look. "No, that one is a hyena," she said, decisively. "No he did not, but I suppose it can be difficult to apologize for attempts at humor. People can be sensitive about their humor. All the world's a stage, and all."

The significance of this was lost on Henrietta. "You're right," she agreed. "How old are you, Luna?"

"I'm seventeen." Luna propped herself up and eyes her, looking mildly interested. "How old are you?"

"Twenty-four."

"People don't often single me out to speak to me unless they want something. What are you looking for? There are many thoughts in your eyes right now. I couldn't see them earlier, but I think a Wrackspurt must've been whizzing around. It's been there for a while now, which is encouraging."

Finding herself a little helplessly beguiled by Luna Lovegood's forthright and yet hopelessly meandering manner of speaking, Henrietta met her gaze thoughtfully. It made her feel as though she should imitate it. "Well…" she began, canvassing the younger girl with her gaze. "I've never met anyone like you." Or a Wrackspurt, for that matter, but she'd never met a thestral either, and here she was.

"No one is ever like anyone," Luna responded. "There are no two people exactly alike. Not even twins."

"What's a Wrackspurt?" Henrietta finally gave in.

"Little creatures that make your mind fuzzy. You can see them with spectrespecs."

Henrietta had never heard of them before, and made a mental note to ask Rowan about them. Luna was definitely a Ravenclaw. She spoke in half-riddles. "Ah."

"If you read the Quibbler, we have several articles on them. They might interest you. You can also order a pair from the magazine," she said. "Though perhaps it might take a while for the paper to begin running… there are lots of important things to say, and many important people to say them. How does one choose? Ooh, that one looks like a baby's face. She's laughing."

Amused, Henrietta nodded. The Quibbler had gone from a rag to a famous newspaper.

"Should we engage in girl talk? Ginny says girls like that. It's an excellent way to cement friendships, though I haven't seen new anyone to try it on in a goodly few months."

Henrietta shrugged. "We can talk about anything you want."

Luna hummed a little. "Do we have to talk? I find that I am very sad."

"We can talk about that if you like. Or we can be quiet, too. I've been seeing a lot of the Weasleys these few days. Doesn't make for much inner peace, does it?"

If anything, that seemed to upset Luna, though she did not react other than to frown thoughtfully.

The pair remained in silence until Luna stood, the wind seemingly dancing around her as if she were summoning it. "I've decided that talking about it would be nice."

"Sure," Henrietta waited. How could she have possibly prepared herself for Luna Lovegood? Neither Tonks' nor Tulip's oddities could compare to this enigma.

Rather than getting directly to her point, Luna chose a roundabout route. One with a bush to beat. "Are you in love with Charlie Weasley?"

Henrietta blinked, reddening a little. No wonder she was such friends with Ginny. Bloody blunt they were. "Uh. D'you want the long or the short answer?"

Luna paused, considering this with the utmost seriousness. "The short and then the long, if you please."

Standing up and cleaning off her robes, Henrietta thought about it. "No. We went to school together and we were very close. I had a lot of romantic feelings for him then," she explained carefully, feeling like she was speaking to both a toddler and an infinitely wise sage. One that could instantly detect bullshit. "We were both very goal-oriented and didn't focus on romance. Then I didn't see him for ages since he lives in Romania. I hadn't seen him since he came to Egypt on a family vacation - I lived there for a while with Bill and we lost touch. But seeing him again… it does bring back old feelings."

She didn't mention kissing him. It had been nice, but kisses didn't always mean something. He wanted a friend nearby, which was understandable, and he'd kissed her after the Battle, after she'd been half dead and shown him her loneliness, after they'd talked about Ben and Fred and Tonks. These things were just as much about reaffirming life as they were about actual romance.

"Have you ever loved anyone?" Luna's distinct manner of speech was not pressing.

"Yes. He didn't love me back," Henrietta said plainly, and it still hurt even now.

"How do you know it's a permanent love rather than a passing fancy?"

Shrugging, Henrietta sighed. "I don't think love is so difficult as Celestina Warbeck songs make it out to be. Sometimes you know instantly, and sometimes the feelings grow when they're nurtured. There isn't a right or wrong. I think any love can be permanent if it is allowed to be. Respect is key."

Luna looked approvingly at her. "Ginny loved Harry as soon as she saw him. Ronald learned to love Hermione Granger. Daddy always said he loved my mother the moment he met her."

"Sometimes it can't be summed up so neatly," Henrietta warned, feeling a bit like an elder sister. Had Jacob felt like this when she'd nagged him? Did Charlie and Bill feel like this? "Sometimes the words are twisted when the feelings aren't, or the feelings are twisted even if words aren't."

With a little sigh, Luna began to spin around. "What about loves that were always intended to end? A romance that fades as quickly as a cloud travels, to disappear into rain and never again be seen in the same form?"

Henrietta watched her make herself dizzy, before stopping and starting again. "I mean, it seems healthy to be able to engage in a relationship that isn't loaded with expectations about the future."

Luna nodded, her voice high and clear. "Is it wrong to be sad? I think I know the answer, but it's always quite reaffirming to hear it from someone else."

"It's not wrong to be sad," Henrietta promised. "We just have to try and not let it consume us."

Henrietta enjoyed being in the Forest. It had been far too long since she'd been here. She'd missed it; it was a completely unique habitat, with endless mysteries and ever-changing landscape. According to Charlie, Arthur's enchanted Muggle car was roaming about somewhere.

"I find myself sad quite often. Neville Longbottom's parents went mad from torture during the last war. People always said I was quite mad, but I feel just as sane as ever. Just much sadder, as if the air is always heavier than it was before. Sometimes standing up straight feels difficult."

"Were you tortured, Luna?" Henrietta asked, a little sharply.

"Oh, yes," Luna said serenely, picking up a leaf and inhaling its earthy scent. "I was a political prisoner for several months. I wasn't tortured so very much, but even a little is quite a bit, don't you agree?"

Henrietta convulsed a little at the memory of the Cruciatus a few days ago, striking up goosepimples and triggering a bout of nausea. It wasn't as bad as it had been, but she could still feel her skin turning inside out and her fingernails growing inverted, each hair on her body lighting on fire. She leaned against a tree, closing her eyes.

"If the memory is too much, I could Obliviate you," Luna's voice seemed to waver into Henrietta's consciousness.

How was she so unflappable?

"No, thank you though," Henrietta shook her head, mechanically polite, too sick to even be embarrassed. After a moment, she opened her eyes. "Just be giving in, wouldn't it? All sorts of people have been tortured. I only felt the bite once and... its affected me badly."

Luna stepped forward, meeting her eyes. They were silver and nearly luminescent, but almost detached in their intensity, as if her body and mind were separate beings. Henrietta could relate to that feeling of disassociation. "It seems to be a bit like the aura of a Dementor. It affects people most when they've experienced trauma. Have you?"

Henrietta shook her head. "I'm one of the lucky ones," she said quietly, hating that a child was comforting her, and still wanting to cling to the comfort of this strange girl who seemed so powerful.

"That isn't true," Luna singsonged. "You're a cursebreaker, aren't you? Ronald said you worked at St. Mungo's. You must've seen some terrible things this year. Just because it doesn't happen to you directly, doesn't mean you aren't affected by it. Empathy is a very human trait."

"Very wise, Luna," she said. "Mind if we head back? Mrs. Weasley is having a dinner tonight, a large one."

"Oh, yes, Harry told me. I'd like to see George Weasley. He wasn't at the ceremony. Neither was Charlie."

Henrietta watched her put her socks and shoes back on. "Do you know why?"

"Well, I wasn't there, but I'd assume George isn't doing well after the death of his twin and that Charlie is attempting to comfort him. I think Mrs. Weasley is rather at a loss. She's quite a nice woman, but she's hurting just as badly as her son." Luna said, matter-of-factly. "It's difficult to take care of others when you're hardly able to take care of yourself. If I were in her position, I'd feel angry, and disappointed in myself, and in addition to regular grieving, unsure of how to progress. George has always had a twin, and now he's just George. They used to pretend to be one another, quite often. It was one of their favorite jokes."

Henrietta remembered that. George, claiming to be Fred. Fred, refusing to answer to anything but 'Gred'. The twins had basked in their interchangeability. It was a looming identity crisis, of that she was certain.

"It probably hurts her feelings and comforts her that Charlie is so good with him, but he seems to be the most sensitive of the lot. Despite their humor, Fred could be rather ruthless, and Ronald can be a bit unkind. Percy Weasley didn't speak to them for ages, and Bill is far older than most of them, which makes it difficult to be close until the younger set catches up. Though I suppose it's none of my business."

"Do you have siblings, Luna?"

"Oh, no, it's just my father and I," she smiled, still serene. "Sometime it's lonely, but it's nice having all of his attention. We're very close. Do you have any siblings?"

"An older brother," she said shortly. "Jacob."

The two continued in silence, passing Hagrid's hut when Rowan raced up to her. "Henrietta!" she said excitedly, stepping besides Luna. "Professor McGonagall said she'd interview me for a position next week! Oh, hi, I'm Rowan," she stuck her hand out to Luna, who regarded it for a long moment until Rowan withdrew her hand.

"This is Luna Lovegood," Henrietta filled her in hastily. "She's a friend of the Weasley family. Luna, Rowan."

"Friend," Luna said happily. "Such a nice word, isn't it? It's very nice to meet you, Rowan."

"Oh, yes," Rowan agreed cheerfully. "I never had friends before I came to Hogwarts, and now I have so many!"

Luna seemed to instinctively realize that she had a kindred spirit before her, and turned to Rowan, asking her about some 'Rotfang conspiracy', when Henrietta, with an eye that would've impressed dedicated Seeker Charlie Weasley, saw a small head of golden hair in the distance that sent her running without so much as a bye-your-leave.

Rowan, for her part, was used to Henrietta's knack for always having half a dozen tasks on her to-do lists, and eagerly listened to Luna's utterly serious tale about gum disease and Dark Magic, helpfully detailing a bark disease that had infested her family's plot since the fall of the Ministry last year, perhaps they were related?

Racing up the hill towards the shining blonde head, Henrietta panted with effort. When she finally made it, the strapping figure next to her pointed, and she turned, facing Henrietta, in all of her cheerful beauty.

"Penny!" she gasped eagerly, running into the girl's arms excitedly. "Oh, Merlin, Barnaby?"

Barnaby Lee, taller and more muscular than ever, stood, a smug, shite-eating grin spread across his handsome face. Penny, same ol' dependable Penny, looked an absolute vision, with her hair tied back in her trademark braids, though there were new lines on her face and a new makeup technique around her eyes.

"Hi," he said, and she hugged him too, waving madly at Rowan to come join them. Rounding back, she grinned at the pair.

"What on earth are you doing here? Rowan's been looking for you for ages!" Henrietta exclaimed, regarding the pair of them. "She couldn't find you!"

"We were in hiding," Penny said, a little unnecessarily. "It's kind of a long story."

"Well, I want to hear it! You two should come to Rowan's sometime next week, Andre's coming home, and Charlie's been around as well." And will be on his best behavior, until he has more context than 'Barnaby was a Slytherin', she thought privately.

Penny's eyes lit up with delight. "And Tulip?"

"Still haven't managed to get a hold of her," she admitted, glad they'd been at the ceremony. Sad they'd heard Tonks' name read out in McGonagall's loud, stern voice. Relieved she didn't have to say it again.

"What about Ben Copper?" Penny wanted to know, just as Rowan caught up. Rowan winced. Realizing that, she covered her mouth with a hand. "Oh, Bill!" she cried, relieved to have a distraction.

Bill and Fleur strode easily up the same hill that had nearly vanquished both Henrietta and Rowan, Luna trailing a ways behind them, stopping to examine blades of grass. Bill greeted everyone easily and introducing Fleur to Barnaby, who hadn't yet met her. The usual awe ensued; she wondered amusedly if Bill ever got used to it.

"Weasley," Barnaby finally choked out, in his endearingly familiar, stilted manner. "How's it going? Where's the other one?"

"Well enough, Lee," Bill answered, shaking his hand firmly. "You?"

"We're here, aren't we? That's answer enough," Penny said. She looked at him intensely for a moment, before stepping back, satisfied at the number of people around her. "Henrietta was just suggesting we all gather at Rowan's next week."

"Zat eez a lovely idea," Fleur cut in, her smile tight. Henrietta was surprised. Most people immediately took to Penny. And her reaction couldn't possibly be jealousy. As pretty and likeable as she was, she was no French Veela Triwizard champion.

"We'll owl you the details," Rowan said fervently. "Andre is coming back too, Bill!"

"Charlie'll love it," Henrietta put in. Bill shot her a grin, and she rolled her eyes.

"Charlie's back from Romania?" Penny cried happily, and Barnaby raised his brows slightly at her reaction. That was definitely a little bit of jealousy disguised as annoyance.

"Yeah," Bill answered, slipping his hand into his wife's. She beamed. "He's staying here for a few weeks, until the dust settled around here."

"Well, we can finally have a reunion, as soon as someone can find Tulip," Penny said, satisfied. "Now we need to go, but don't just make half-hearted plans! I'm really looking forward to seeing your place, Rowan. If you don't send me an owl, I will track you down."

Barnaby nodded at them, letting Penny drag him off.

"Wonder where they're going?" Henrietta mused. "That's an odd pair."

"There's not a single person in our year who wasn't enamored of Penny Haywood," Rowan informed her. "Including Ben, Charlie, and Barnaby."

"Are you implying those two are together?"

Bill quirked a brow, watching them walk away together. "Stranger things have happened."

Luna finally made it up the hill, her hair streaming behind her. "Are they serving lunch in the Great Hall?"

"Yes, but come to the Burrow for dinner, if you like. Mum's been hosting absolute buffets for each meal. Ginny's been looking for you everywhere to invite you," Bill said, his eyes cutting to Henrietta.

"Lovely. I'll bring some gurdyroot infusion."

x

Charlie's morning had not gone so smoothly.

After he'd taken Henrietta home, he'd kicked out George's friends and taken him home. He needed to be home. At least until after the funeral, when he was ready to open the shop back up. He'd been grateful for Oliver and Lee and all of their friends, for cleaning the shop and the flat, but George shouldn't be there alone.

Though he stood by his decision to bring George home, his soft moans had kept him awake all night. Not cries, or active nightmares, or even snoring. Just the occasional whimper and groan, loud and clear. So a few hours before dawn, with a careful locking charm, he'd gently moved George over and slid into the small bed besides him. George tossed and turned and then suddenly stilled, waking up a little. "Don't tell," George mumbled, but seemed to ease into a deeper sleep, looking ages younger and curling like a child into his brother's arms. Though, Charlie mused, he had only just turned twenty.

Awake and listening to the sounds of silence in the Burrow, Charlie sat until daybreak, thinking about his siblings.

Bill's issues with Greyback had been difficult to manage, but he'd been mostly unchanged. If anyone in the family was capable of coping with the physical and mental scars left by a rabid werewolf attack in the middle of a war, it was Bill. He'd always been what Charlie imagined Godrid Gryffindor to be like; brave, chivalrous, charming, but never faint of heart, never shrinking away from the reality of situations, always realistic and always accepting of himself and others. Their friendship had been the closest of perhaps all their siblings, save Fred and George. Not even a full two years apart, and despite their differences, always thinking along the same lines. Bill's interests had always been towards history, the ancient and the discoverable; Charlie's had always been nature-oriented, about the power of the uncontrollable earth magic. Yet they'd had the selfsame sense of adventure, inability to say no to a challenge, and desire to learn more, to do more, to keep growing and following their intense passions.

Percy had always been a little separate from them, too serious by far. Like all the others, he'd idolized Bill, loving his handsomeness, his ease with authority and his ability to soothe anyone from Mum to Ginny. But Percy had been more reserved, less athletic and adventurous. A war baby, grown in a time where questions and cries could mean instant death, where fear loomed over the household he grew up in like an everpresent storm, a penumbra of shadow over the Burrow that none of the others had truly felt. Bill, because he was the oldest and had been doted on so much as the first, and Charlie, because he'd always felt comfortable with being himself, whether others found it likable or not. Percy lacked that quality, and while the war grew more deadly, Mum's brothers died, and Dad's position at the Ministry teetered in and out of mortal peril, Percy had the awareness that at any moment, not following the rules could have consequences. He'd been a fearful child, impressed by Bill's authority and afraid of Charlie's ease. Now, Percy was nearly unhinged in his grief and guilt, his mood swings rapid and self-hatred palpable. He'd succumbed to his weakness - as everyone did, at one point or another - and regretted his final moments with his brother more than anything else he'd ever do. His childhood had been fraught with horrors, and then his journey to adulthood had been equally as tumultuous, confusing, and terrifying.

Fred was dead.

George was putting on a strong front for their parents, but his fight with Angelina had shown Charlie just how badly his brother was doing. George and Fred, despite their outward sameness and extroversion, despite their jokes and games, were incredibly powerful and intelligent wizards who'd sought to make their older brother a little less terrified. They'd been more like Charlie, comfortable and confident in themselves, partially because they'd always been a team. They'd never felt the crushing loneliness that came with intense fear. They'd actively fought against it.

When George had lost his ear, Fred had gone ballistic. Their identities were wrapped up in their sameness, even as they aged and took upon different mantles. Fred, the ringleader, the face, and George, the creative background, the legwork. Concept and execution. Now George had to be his own person for the first time in his life, and the prospect terrified him as much as it grieved him.

Little Ron had saved the entire wizarding world. After all of his Percy-like insecurity, he'd been a Quidditch champion, a prefect, was the tallest among them, and had been an integral part of the downfall of the greatest dark wizard in generations. And he had a girlfriend, a feat that only Bill and Percy had accomplished thus far.

Ginny was dating the bloody Chosen One, and had involved herself in the war as a sixteen year old, first leading a student resistance and then actually duelling in the Battle. She'd had the same passion as Charlie, the same force of personality and looks as Bill, a good humor like the twins, and a fierce loyalty like Ron. George insisted she should try out for the Holyhead Harpies, but Mum was shrilly at the idea of her jeopardizing her education for a game. Fred argued Krum. Mum's face twisted at the memory of Rita Skeeter's slander, and her own reaction to it.

Ginny had a bit of them all. The best bits. Except for that she had Percy's shadow. The dark forces that had surrounded Percy's youth had been gone in Ginny's, replaced by joy and celebration. But she'd been marked by that diary, and felt acutely the ravages of dark magic and forces beyond her control.

It hurt him that his lively family, so full of wit and love, faced so much. It was worth it though, when the twins insisted everyone don Mum's jumpers on Christmas Day, always proud of her and protective of her even as they argued with her the most. It was worth it when Ron and Dad marveled over little Muggle conveniences that confused the hell out of most of them. It was worth it when Ginny and George had sometimes made the exact same gestures without even knowing it, or when Bill had cradled a tiny Ginny, or when Dad had told Charlie he was proud of him, or when Percy had come home. When Percy and Bill had gone to tea parties for Ginny, or when Fred had first managed to fly on a broom, or when Ron had discovered his incredible skill for chess.

It was worth the pain to have faced such love. His heart ached for Fred, never able to grow up and continue their little legacy. But not many families had a Fred, and he supposed he should be grateful for having a little brother like him to begin with.

When Fred curled his lip in a sneer, it looked like Ginny when she was about to verbally flay Ron for some crime or another. When Fred had laughed, it sounded just like George. When Fred had raged, it was like Dad. When Fred slept, he snored like Ron. When he applied himself, he bit quills just like Percy. When he played Quidditch, he was as cheerfully bloodthirsty as Charlie. When he bellowed, it was so reminiscent of Mum it was impossible not to laugh. When he grinned, he was as handsome as Bill, despite the differences in their appearance.

There were little telltale differences in the twins, but they'd always known one another so thoroughly they were easy to cover. Not after the Ear Incident. It was easy to tell them apart, even without thinking carefully or noticing. It drove Fred bananas.

George slept on, no moans, and no snores.

Then, little before dawn, he eased out of the bed and watched the window. But just as sounds of their mother waking up and puttering around the kitchen like a madwoman began, George rolled over onto his back, not making eye contact with Charlie.

"I can't go," he said plainly. He was not sobbing helplessly or raging. He was small and defeated and looked as if his legs couldn't support him and his arms were dead weights.

Charlie turned and watched his brother stare at the ceiling, his breathing shallow. His expression was drawn and there were dark shadows beneath his eyes. His hair had grown long in the past few months, despite Muriel's insults and Mum's scissors. There was no spirit in his eyes today. Not the hardened front he'd given Angelina or the crushing sadness he'd shown the morning before.

Charlie could force him up, make him go, pay his respects, but that would be cruel. George had the right to make this choice. "You don't have to."

"I… I don't want to be alone," George said, his voice small, as if he hated himself for his weakness but knew he couldn't summon the strength to fight his

Heart breaking, Charlie contained the pain he felt before answering, his voice soothing. "I'll stay, Georgie. You don't have to be alone."

"You'll go back to Romania," he said, and sounded just like the little boy who'd followed him all around the Burrow, outraged that he was leaving for Hogwarts and plotting ways to keep him home, to lure him back for breaks. "I'm going to be alone no matter what."

"Not yet," Charlie promised.

George laid back on the pillow silently. Charlie exited and told his Mum that he and George weren't attending. She did not shout. She only nodded, and asked him to bring some tea up to George. He did. George thanked him quietly and did not touch his cup.

Charlie didn't mind that they were quiet for most of the day. Long after everyone else had left, George remained silent, staring at the wall above him. Charlie stayed in the room with him, equally as silent.

It struck him that perhaps George had never been alone, not longer than a few hours. And he'd never been quiet. From birth, he'd had a best friend. Fred had always been the louder of the pair, a little quippier, a little harsher. Now, George sat silently. He had never seen George quiet. The explosions from their room had become commonplace. There were no explosions, physical or emotional. Just a heavy silence.

After the lunch hour passed with no words, Charlie's stomach growled. Loudly.

"Food, yeah?" George asked, smiling faintly.

"Yeah," Charlie agreed, and the pair went down to the kitchen, heating leftovers and tearing into them with gusto. Now that the spell of silence had been broken, Charlie finally said what he'd been wondering since the previous evening: "What's going on with you and that girl from last night?"

"Angelina?" George scowled, but there was fondness beneath it, regret and ruefulness. "She's a bloody maniac, that's what."

Charlie raised his brows. "We all have our reasons for doing what we do."

George shook his head. "Don't you start too. Alicia already tore one into me when you were in the corner snogging Henrietta. Not that I blame you. Always thought you were a little thick for not doing it sooner."

"We weren't!" Charlie denied hotly, but he was grinning nonetheless, his face burning from embarrassment and the hugeness of his own smile. "What'd she have to say?"

"What do you think? That I was a bloody arse," George grumped, leaning onto the table, looking very unlike his usual self. "I wanted to apologize. I just… snapped. She was trying to get me to…"

"To?" Charlie prompted when George fell silent again. He'd never experienced so many silences around George.

He shot him a dirty look. "To stop being a nosy git, firstly," he answered, but it lacked heat.

"What is it, Georgie?" Charlie asked, his tone softening. "You need to talk to someone?"

Suddenly furious, George stood, knocking his chair back. "I don't have anyone to talk to, because Fred is dead," he said, his face livid with color and emotions that Charlie, try as he might, could never possibly comprehend or comfort.

He didn't look like Fred when he was that angry.

"There's us, even if it isn't the same," Charlie said softly, letting George walk around the kitchen in furious circles.

George paused at that, his spine stiffening. "I know," he whispered, defeated, suddenly crying again in earnest, sinking on to the kitchen floor in dry sobs that filled Charlie with an anguish in his chest that seemed to swell him up until he couldn't breathe. George sobbed without tears, stuffing his fists into his eyes.

Charlie let him cry a little before he crouched down, holding him again, like the child who'd accidentally spilled hot soup on his arm. He crooned to him as if he were a newborn dragon; fiery, liable to bite a head off, but still a baby, unformed, unsure of what the future held.

Eventually, they both calmed down, and went outside. Their spirits weren't in Quidditch, so they just flew around on old brooms, both lost in their own thoughts.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted on ffn.

The Burrow's dinner was a bustling affair, full of family and friends and coworkers and allies of the Order and those who'd finally come out of hiding. It seemed half of those who'd attended the memorial were present. Henrietta didn't know most of them, but all of the older members seemed manically jovial, forcibly exuding an affectation of happiness. Though real relief was there, many of them had fought in two wars and had spent over a dozen years of their lives and losing nearly everything to fight. It was the time to be cheerful, and yet not a soul was happy.

There'd been too much loss. There was too much to think about, both for the future and the past.

There was a good deal of whispering about Fred, and Mrs. Weasley's brothers; it seemed no twins were to be spared.

Henrietta had heard about Mrs. Weasley's brothers. The Prewetts. Twins they'd been, two of the greatest wizards of their generation. Murdered by Death Eaters. It seemed little solace that it had taken nearly half a dozen of them to bring down the pair. Bill had told her of them a long time ago, after a particularly harrowing adventure in Egypt. She could remember it now; a time before the second war, before Charlie had made such a sudden and important reappearance in her life, when it had just been her and Bill. Of course they had families and friends, but for so long, it had been the two of them, sharing a bond that only such close quarters could give. Egypt was very different from home. Rowan had been her closest friend all through school, who'd always been there for her, but it was Bill who'd constantly saved her life, who looked out for her from their first adventure, who stood as an equal on so many levels sometimes she wished he'd been her brother. He was one of the few she could really discuss Jacob with, could rely on regardless of what she thought she needed to do. He was her family in a way even her own blood could not rival, a way none of her friends could touch.

They'd been sitting at a pub, both a little soused, when he'd brought it up. It was before he'd gone home, before Hogwarts had hosted the Triwizard Tournament that had brought Fleur to him, before the death of the Diggory boy that had such implications on magical society. That been been the beginning of it all, really, far moreso than the Chamber of Secrets or little Harry Potter arriving at Hogwarts.

"I remember it," he told her, his strikingly orange brows furrowed a little, looking over her shoulder as if expecting that they'd suddenly be in the Three Broomsticks or the Leaky Cauldron rather than a tiny wizarding pub in an entirely different country. "The war."

There'd been rumors, of course, of what was to come, even then. Of Albania, what was lying in wait beneath the trees. Few people held stock in those tales. But Bill did. He kept a constant ear out for news, especially after the death of Quirrell, their old Muggle Studies professor… and Ginny was still recovering from being possessed, though she wrote him often and seemed to be healing and making friends now, remarkably level-headed and well adjusted for someone who'd been through all she had. But despite her burgeoning health and popularity, Bill had solemnly confided in Henrietta that it had been the diary of Tom Riddle. It had belonged to Him. Bill thought that the opening of the Chamber of Secrets last year meant something was going to happen. Hadn't they learned from the Vaults? These incidents were never isolated.

Henrietta blearily looked up at him, trying to do the math. The war had ended, really, with the Potters. After that, it had been a few months of clean-up, and a few years of dealing with everything, but once the toddler Harry Potter had somehow defeated You-Know-Who, everything had sort of snapped rapidly into their favor. Bill had been perhaps ten or eleven years old when it had happened. Old enough to understand. She had been too, though in a more abstract way. Bill had always been discerningly intelligent, an innate strength of mind combined with the wisdom only older siblings had. She'd been sheltered.

She remembered Barnaby, his blithe confession that his parents were regular hosts of You-Know-Who. It made her shiver to imagine.

"I don't," she admitted. Bill's family had been heavily involved in the war, she knew. Members of the Order of the Phoenix. She'd heard whisperings, but her parents would rather sit quietly and hope for the best… and she had never known how Jacob felt. "I only remember what happened to my family. We didn't listen to the wireless, then. A lot of quiet nights. Everyone was so anxious, so afraid..."

"I remember when my uncles died," Bill said. They held hands across the table, damp with sweat and condensation from their mugs. His hand was callused and comforting, with long fingers. She always thought he might do well to learn Muggle piano, though he preferred to simply charm it to play. Complicated magic, to be sure, but despite his ability, there was something that suited him aesthetically about the nonmagical artistic pursuit. "Uncle Gideon and Uncle Fabian. Twins. Me and Charlie were watching Gin and Ron… Dad was at work. I dunno where Mum was. Perhaps making lunch. I remember Percy and George had gotten sick. Fred was beside himself being away from George, so Mum made him sleep with us. And Dad came home - he didn't make me and Charlie leave, which made us feel quite grown, but he told her… Death Eaters had killed them. Five against two," he shook his head sorrowfully. "Mad-Eye Moody had told him. I haven't ever seen her like that. Never want to again," he shook his head, some of his shaggy hair falling into his face. "Woman does everything for everyone. That sort of pain on her…"

She wouldn't give him empty, soothing platitudes. So they simply sat, wondering what the future held. They sipped from their mugs, nursing old wounds and those yet to come.

Even now, Mrs. Weasley, despite her frantic demeanor and indiscriminate scoldings, carried with her a sort of expectation of respect rivaled only in Professor Minerva McGonagall. All of her children, despite their groanings, loved and cherished her in a manner Henrietta envied. She loved her own mother, of course, but few women were as nurturing as Molly Weasley, as strong-willed and worthy of such devotion from a small, redheaded army. Smaller now.

As if mirroring her own slightly melancholy thoughts, the cheer of the party was faltering, switching from furious joy to odd silences, as if it were too exhausting to carry the weight of happiness. The shifting volume of the laughs, the intensity of the nervous smiles, the constantly clinking of toasts. It grated a little, though she supposed it made sense. Many of the older wizards and witches were much more relaxed than the young; their war had been longer, had taken more casualties. They'd lived through enough loss to understand the importance of the joy of the moment, to appreciate the harmony and the sunsets and another day survived. Those who were younger were more tense, on edge; many had been born during the first war, and their earliest memories had been shaped by fear and caution, only to have it returned in adulthood, leaving them twitchy and jumpy, prone to nightmares and trauma-induced panic attacks. They did not yet understand to appreciate the fleetingness of peace, and felt loss more powerfully. Individual loss was easier to empathize with than mass statistics. They did not feel lucky to be alive. They felt guilty.

Someday, academic texts would be written about this, Henrietta mused. The comparison of the first war to the second, the difference Harry Potter had made, the martyr Lily Potter had been. The power of a mother's love, it was whispered, had saved him. It was olde magick, some claimed. Earth magic that needed no wand, that was wordless, that far predated magical sticks and hummed incantations and cauldrons full of strange alchemical items. Henrietta wasn't certain if she believed it… but the magic they used today had to have had some sort of precursor. Spells and incantations weren't just discovered, they were made. Even goblins, more capable of wandless and nonverbal magic than some of the most powerful wizards, envied their wands.

She was distracted from her reverie by a few children running past her, nearly knocking down some of the more elderly folk nearby. There weren't enough chairs to be found or transfigured, so most ate and mingled while standing, nibbling on the vast number of hors d'oeuvres that Molly periodically sent out of the kitchen, usually in the hands of Fleur or Ginny or Ron (the latter of whom was displeased to be torn from his girlfriend and his mates).

When Henrietta attempted to take Ron's place, to his delight and Molly's displeasure, she was fussed over, although her injuries were long healed by magic. Mrs. Weasley chided Ron for his lack of chivalry and ordered Charlie to take her out to the party to relax and eat and mingle. Squeezing his mum's tense shoulders and wrapping an arm around Henrietta, Charlie lead her out of the hot kitchen and into the breezy garden, Ron swearing behind them and Ginny shouting at him.

They'd attempted people-watching for a while. There were many options; three boys who seemed to be Ron's friends, probably his housemates but perhaps not; an awkward boy whom Henrietta thought she might have recognized as a visitor to Saint Mungo's, a tall, handsome young man, and small one with a loud, Irish accent and an explosive presence. Literally so, since he'd already exploded two butterbeer bottles with incidental magic. He soon left, with the taller boy in tow, his swears louder than Ron's.

Wizarding panic attacks were dangerous, and it seemed this boy had an affinity for pyrotechnics, judging by the sparks that seemed to be crackling around him. A crowd like this wasn't the best idea for those who'd just fought a war. Constant vigilance couldn't be easily forgotten. The remaining boy had been adopted by Ginny, who dragged him off, chattering loudly, two others at her side that Henrietta did not recognize.

Bill and Charlie had invited many of their school friends, to little avail. Many of Bill's individual friends had fallen out of touch or gone into hiding. Those who hadn't died, at least. As for their collective network of friends, Rowan was at her family's farm, trying to help harvest wood for Ollivander's unsteady progress. There was quite the need for new wands for Muggleborns and half bloods, and even his slowest work required an incredible amount of wood. Many of his leftovers had been broken during raids, and thus, despite his delicate condition, he continued to work with an industry that Rowan reported as startling. Though, most magical industry was startling to her, since she was notoriously terrible at practical magic. Even her improvements over the years left some to be desired. Business was booming for the Khannas, though she was sorry to miss Bill and sorrier to miss Fleur, who'd replaced him in her pinings. A handsome, powerful wizard Curse-Breaker was one thing - a magically beautiful young woman who'd participated in the legendary Triwizard Tournament was another thing.

Penny had politely and regretfully declined, for her sake and for Barnaby's; she thought it wouldn't do to bring him. His family was known for their allegiance to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, and she refused to attend without him, though she was excited to see them again and catch up, nailing them down for a concrete date later that week. Andre wasn't back yet. Liz Tuttle and Tulip were still flying under the radar, apparently, and the last Henrietta had heard of Talbott Winger was that he was living incognito as an Animagus and probably hadn't heard yet that the war was over.

Charlie and Henrietta had escaped the crush after a few glasses of mead, standing by the garden, giggling, watching Luna attempt to communicate with the gnomes and quite gracefully ignoring their attempts to bite her and otherwise cause mild bodily harm. Luna was convinced they spoke some newfound variant of Gernumbly, but Charlie whispered that it was just the swears that Fred and George had taught them a few summers ago, garbled by their native tongue. Charlie translated a few Gernumbly swears to her, rendering her into a fit of giggles, and she responded in kind, irresponsibly teaching him a few choice remarks in Gobbledegook. Unlike Bill, it seemed that Charlie did not have a knack for the soft variances in tone, linguistic understanding of different tongue placements, or the ability to hear the differences between hard r and soft rs, the length of an s, or throat clicking and tongue clicking, and kept making q sounds, even though they were nonexistent in Gobbledegook. Luna ignored their tipsy cackling with dignity, beaming at the little creatures happily, and they eventually took to her, poking rather than biting, running around her like excited children. A few feet away, the pair stayed there, half-hidden in the shadows, Charlie's hand curved round her shoulder as they spoke, already casually intimate. It felt good, natural.

Suddenly though, the Harry Potter appeared and approached Luna carefully, handing her something that she took excitedly. He leapt away from the swarm of gnomes that suddenly stormed them, kicking a few off of him in a panic as they flooded Luna like a herd of ugly, hairless puppies. She only laughed delightedly, not noticing Harry's horror.

Racing over, throwing a few gnomes as far away as he could manage (to Luna's exclaimed disgust) Harry shook his head, mostly at Charlie. "Mad," he explained, ducking his head a little shyly at Henrietta. "They like Bertie Bott's, so I got her some out of my old bag. Thought they might trample me for a minute. Dunno how she manages."

Henrietta was a little stunned to be making such casual conversation with the Boy Who Lived, and squinted at him, trying not to stare. Morgana only knew she'd suffered her own fair share of staring, miniscule though her notoriety was compared to the bloody Chosen One. He wasn't really an impressive boy, rather small and modest looking, with messy hair. There was that scar though. The symbol of a rebellion. She wondered if those who'd read Rita Skeeter's articles had found her similarly unimposing. "How did you know?"

"Dad and I tested all the different things they'd like to eat once when Mum was visiting Aunt Muriel," Charlie explained, grinning. "He loves 'em. Thinks they're charming."

"About as charming as a Blast-Ended Skrewt," Harry muttered darkly.

"Blast-Ended Skrewts?" Henrietta frowned, trying to recall Kettleburn and Hagrid's penchant for odd beasts. Had Barnaby or Liz ever mentioned them? Charlie certainly hadn't, nor Rowan. "What are those?"

Choking, Charlie began to laugh, doubling over in a roaring chuckle, his hair falling over his eyes as his laughter built, getting louder and more joyful with every moment.

Henrietta was bewildered. Harry scowled a little, kicking some dirt beside him, looking as if he very much regretted joining them.

"Blimey. He really did it," Charlie choked. "Hagrid did it, then?"

"Among other things," Harry answered drolly, his eyes moving back over to Luna in an absent-minded fondness and in a need to look somewhere else than Charlie and Henrietta. She suddenly felt affectionate towards him. She knew that Luna had been close with Ginny and Ron and their now famous mates, but seeing his unabashed caring reminded her of her own ragtag friend group from school. She'd be dead a dozen times over if it weren't for all of them. She wondered how they had been able to stand it, her constant trouble.

"She's amazing, isn't she?" Henrietta gestured at the young girl, still surrounded by curious gnomes, unsure of what the hell the other two were talking about. "Rare kind of person, isn't she?"

At that, Harry grinned broadly, looking comfortable for the first time. "Yeah, Luna's great. Rarer than a... Blibbering Humdinger," he offered conversationally, though he grinned inwardly. Henrietta wondered what the hell that was. Another odd beast, she was certain.

"I'm still on... the bloody... Skrewts," Charlie wheezed pathetically, his face red, half bowed over. "Hagrid wrote to me a few years ago, Henrietta, asking me about breeding different kinds of dragons. Mind you, we don't often do it, but when we do, it's difficult. Requires a lot of magic, a lot of effort. Fire crabs and manticores, were they? He Floo'd me in a panic, sobbing that he couldn't feed 'em nothing."

Harry shrugged, though he was smiling a little bit too.

"Where the hell did Hagrid get a manticore?" Henrietta demanded, shocked but not surprised at the gamekeeper's antics. "And how the hell did he get it to breed with a Fire Crab? That's like asking a centaur to mate with a..."

But she trailed off, silenced, as George appeared on the other side of the garden, not seeming to notice them. He watched Luna, his arms folded across his broad chest, his stance defensive.

"Is he alright?" Henrietta asked, watching him, his expression almost surly, his eyes dark and guarded. "I've never seen him like this."

"We can't all save healing for after celebration," Charlie said wisely, though she was certain that Molly had said it first and he was just mirroring her. He'd stopped laughing quite abruptly, and looked troubled.

Harry slipped away, heading back towards Luna, and took her away, back to the party, though she went a little reluctantly. He waved at George, who nodded back, his gaze still hooded. But the sudden appearance of Katie Bell distracted him enough to smile a little, forced and false though it was. He softened suddenly, and when she grabbed his arm, he allowed it. None of the shoving and grumbling he'd reserved for most others today. Strange that he was so gentle and tolerant with her. It was a stark contrast to his earlier behavior with Angelina and his cold gaze at Luna.

"Probably off for a game of pickup," Charlie mused. "Did I tell you she plays? Tried out for the team at the end of our seventh year. She's pretty good, actually."

Henrietta couldn't remember. "What position does she play?"

"Chaser," then he eyed her. "You've got that look. What're you thinking?" Charlie eyed her.

Henrietta gave him a brief smile for knowing her so well. It was comforting. "Just thinking."

"About?" he pressed.

"Why George is so much nicer to her than most others," Henrietta said, rather bluntly.

Charlie paused at that. "Well," he began, staring at the place where George had stood just a moment ago. "She's pretty small. Tough, of course, I'm sure she's taken her share of hits. You know Quidditch can be a rather violent bloody game. A Beater's job is to protect the Chasers, mostly. And hit the other team, but a good Beater can do that simultaneously. So some of it is ingrained. And she very nearly died not too long ago, in addition to being injured in the Battle. But Fred and George nearly killed her once even before she landed in St. Mungo's, so I'm sure he's got that protective urge. Guilt."

Henrietta frowned at the thought. "How do you mean? You can't drop a hint like that and not elaborate. What did they do? Hit her with a few good Bludgers?"

Charlie winced. "When they were still experimenting with the shop products - Skiving Snackboxes, you know the like I'm sure - she got hit with a Quaffle-"

"A Quaffle?"

"Ron," Charlie said succinctly. "Apparently not the greatest Keeper when he's nervous."

Henrietta felt the air sucked out of her. "And?"

"Got a bloody nose. No big deal, right? But Fred and George decided it'd be a good idea to hand her the bit of a Nosebleed Nougat that's supposed to end it. Of course, it wasn't even the final version."

"And?"

"And they gave her the wrong bit. Apparently she nearly toppled off her broom and they carried her to the hospital wing. Wicked blood loss."

Henrietta exhaled. "Not cool," she remarked, imagining the scene.

"Didn't mean any harm, of course," Charlie added hastily. "They might be the most reckless of the bunch, but Mum raised gentlemen. Want to go play a game? I'm assuming that's where Katie dragged George off to."

"Not enough brooms, and I'm not that good. Not against four Weasleys. You've got a whole team of your own. A household of nearly a dozen Gryffindors is my worst bloody nightmare," Henrietta quipped, only half-joking.

"Madam Hooch was out for you to try out for Quidditch," he contradicted her, grinning a little, his white teeth bright against his deeply tanned skin. Her stomach flipped a little - partially from the drink, and partially from his proximity. He was suddenly close again, his chest against her arm.

"Madam Hooch was out for me to stop bothering her," Henrietta contradicted. "Remember when I tried to borrow a broom for our stint in the Forest? Thought she was going to whack me over the head with it. 'Ask me for a broom more than once and I shall guarantee that you will fall to your death.'"

Charlie ignored that nugget of truth. "Andre always said you were incredible in class. Too busy breaking curses though, I s'pose."

"I'm glad he thinks I'm good at something," she answered dryly, ignoring the ill-placed praise. "All he ever did was insult my clothing and hair. Especially that old sweater Bill gave me. Though I thought I was going to get poisoned every time I wore it to the Great Hall, the daggers he shot at me. Embarrassed to be seen with me," she whispered mock-conspiratorially.

Her tone was deceptively light, but she could feel her face heating up at the way his eyes darkened. Charlie grinned at her, his expression feral in a way she'd never seen before, and she couldn't quite read it. But she liked it. "I hated it," he said, and she almost jumped at the timbre of his voice and the way it seemed to vibrate through her bones, even as she took offense to his comment. "Don't mistake my meaning, I liked seeing you in Mum's homemade jumper. Drove me raving mad, though, to see that W. Hexed Bill in the common room after the first time you wore it to Hogsmeade. Knew he gave it to you just to bother me, even if I wouldn't admit why it had me so angry. Claimed it would hurt Mum's feelings."

He kissed her, his lips chapped and warm and dry and she kissed him back, resting her fingers against his cheek, feeling the roughness of the shorn beard, reveling in the feel of his strength and the heat he radiated.

"He only gave it to me because it was too small for him and I complained about being cold on the way to Hogsmeade," she shook her head, a little amazed that Charlie had been jealous, uncertain if he was teasing.

"Mum almost swallowed her wand, she was so delighted when he mentioned it. Thought her little William had gotten himself a steady. She constantly owled, trying to get us to bring you round for tea every summer from fourth year on, imagining the two of you in matching jumpers."

"You knew Bill was still obsessed with Emily Tyler," Henrietta squinted at him, rearing back to see his face fully and share their expressions of disgust. "That awful bint. But I wondered at all the attention your Mum was giving me. Thought maybe she'd just been reading too much Rita Skeeter."

"Nah, she just was grooming you to marry one of us. She had you and Tonks as a matched set. One for Bill, one for me. 'Such nice girls, so clever, so polite, and from such good families.'" Charlie mocked, though his eyes were gentle and teasing. "First and last time someone ever described a teenaged Nymphadora Tonks as 'nice'. Bloody hell, half my scars are from Tonks-related mishaps. Dragons never held half the danger as hanging out with her."

Henrietta laughed a little, leaning back against him. It felt good to remember Tonks like that, though her heart felt heavy in her chest. She felt guilty for laughing. Had Andromeda laughed since May second? Since Ted had died?

No, she corrected herself. Since he'd been murdered.

"You were such a chubby kid," she broke away, remembering fondly, trying to distract herself from the waves of painful memories. "Watching you on a broom was always amazing. You were so much bigger than every other Seeker."

He snorted into her hair, amused. "And now I'm super muscular and you can't keep your hands off me."

"I liked the chubbiness. It was cute. Probably intimidating on the pitch, to boot. Can you imagine flying against a Seeker the size of Katie Bell? I'd promptly turn tail if I were her. Drat the snitch."

Charlie grinned at the image. "Suppose that's true, otherwise you'd have been chasing Barnaby or Talbott or someone with a more curated physique. Or that bloody Ravenclaw prefect… what was his name… Chester? Every other girl in school was mad for him. Even that prefect of yours."

"If anyone was going to catch my eye, it was obviously Felix," she responded drolly, closing her eyes and enjoying his easy breathing on her crown. The distant sounds of the party were cheerful and calming. Charlie's presence was a healing one.

"That git of a Slytherin prefect? What is it with you and Slytherins? If you were hot for a prefect, I dunno why you didn't jump me in the bathroom first thing fifth year." Charlie wanted to know, though he seemed less defensive than he had before.

"What's with you and Slytherins? Barnaby fought that Red Cap with us!" Henrietta answered hotly. "Liz Tuttle loves creatures same as you three. I wouldn't be surprised if she wrote Andre every day, asking for information about some creature or another."

"I always wondered what Andre, that diva, was doing out in the Americas," he mused, his hands clasping against her back, rubbing circles. She stretched against him, thoroughly enjoying his touches. "Mazoologist my arse. He was just mad Pride of Portree cut him before the final tryouts."

"He loves flying new places," she answered, and wondered if the bliss of being in Charlie Weasley's arms was anything like what flying felt like for Andre Egwu. "He's a traveller at heart, and the mazoology job was the best opportunity for that freedom. You would've done well with it, but Liz couldn't fly well enough for the position. And Barnaby had enough on his plate..."

What with his parents being Death Eaters.

"I don't know if I trust him," Charlie said bluntly, releasing her and looking down at her. "But I don't want to argue about it."

"There's a lot of things wrong with the world right now, Charlie," she dropped her head to his chest, not wanting the contact to be over but not understanding how he could possibly see any evil in the likes of Barnaby Lee. "You spent a lot of time with him. You were both always with Kettleburn and Hagrid. I was always surprised you two weren't closer."

"Rowan still mistrusted Ben, and you thought she was mad," he pointed out. "And you trusted your brother when you hadn't seen him for years and tainted your family name."

"Trust is a funny thing, Charlie," she blew a sigh. "Wait, do you hear that?"

They separated, and moved forward a few feet, searching for the odd sound. It wasn't Luna, who had actually managed to tame a few of the gnomes into dancing with her, but a sound almost like crying. Wondering if someone was injured, they went to investigate. They were almost at the limit of the Burrow when they found it.

George and Angelina, snogging as if their very lives depended on it, practically curled into one another. The only way to tell where one started and the other began was by Angelina's long, dark legs shown to her advantage in a short skirt, which contrasted brightly with George's own pale skin. She broke away to say something in a low voice before diving back in.

Henrietta turned around, face flaming. Charlie shook with hilarity, wrapping an arm around her affectionately. Unfortunately, Angelina heard Charlie's laughter immediately, and unglued herself from George, before glaring at them and flouncing away as if it had never happened, her expression even and her hair mussed.

George froze for a moment, glaring at Charlie, before he gave him a rude gesture and stalked in the opposite direction of Angelina, face flaming and furious and embarrassed and guilty and confused.

"Great, galloping gorgons," Henrietta choked, surprised. "That is so messy."

"Yeah, congratulations. You ended up with only remaining the non-berk Weasley."

"He isn't a berk," Henrietta protested. "He's twisted up inside."

Looking down at her, his eyes turned serious once more. "She's hurting too. Everyone is. George is lucky that the only person he really lost was Fred. Nobody else he was close to has died, and that's incredibly rare. Angelina's only a half blood. She had it worse than George from the beginning." His face was glowing in the light as the sun began to set, his hair glinting like dragonfire and his eyes dark. He continued thoughtfully: "Y'know, I think I was the last to know. That I liked you. Bill knew - I think that's why he gave you his sweater. Tried to force me into a realization I wasn't ready to come to m'self."

"He gave me his sweater because it was too small and I said I was cold," Henrietta reiterated and shook her head. "It wasn't that serious. Not like this. Not like them."

"Well, I knew you were close friends, which also irritated me since he's two years your senior, but it was such a boyfriend-girlfriend move that I almost stole his prefect badge and chucked it out the window of Gryffindor Tower. Though you're right about Emily Tyler."

Henrietta bristled again at the thought of the young girl who'd so insulted Bill, who had been her idol at that point.

"Point being, he was going for a reaction. Bill knows me better than I know dragons. Andre always did the same thing - tried to get in my head during Quidditch matches, pointing at you and Ben or you and Bill, or Barnaby even. I know George nearly as well as Fred did," he said, and it physically pained him to use the past tense, but he continued. "It's going to be complicated and a little bit sick. But what isn't going to be either of those things? Doesn't excuse him being a berk. Bill got mauled by a werewolf and still managed to please the most Type-A girl I've ever met. Fleur would have totally been a Slytherin."

"This isn't complicated or sick," she muttered, feeling her face redden despite herself. "This might be the easiest thing I've done in a decade. And Fleur is a model Ravenclaw."

"Henrietta," he said, his voice low and rumbly, close to her ear. "I've had a crush on you since we were fourteen, and it hasn't lessened at all."

"Shut up," she flushed, unable to help her giddy grin. "You did not. All we ever talked about was dragons, Cursed Vaults, and your family."

"The real reason we weren't friends before that is because I was too shy to say anything to you besides asking you for help in Transfiguration. McGonagall bloody loved you. Private lessons, my arse," he continued, grinning down at her again, and it was as if her very bones were melting at his expression, so honest and so Charlie, so full of care and gentleness and good cheer. "Probably why she let you and Talbott get away with-"

"Oi! You two soppy gits need to get over here, 'Mione's got the Pensieve ready to go!"

Henrietta reddened at the sound of Ron's voice, but Charlie sent back a rude gesture and a grin at his youngest brother, who responded in kind.

"What's happening? With a Pensieve?" Henrietta whispered to Charlie, flustered.

"For memories of Fred. Most of the people here knew him pretty well… it was Luna's idea, actually. Just to have, to visit sometimes, to remember. Maybe someday we'll want a portrait made, or something. Better to have them than to not. To see other people's perspectives, yeah?"

They followed Ron's enormously tall, lanky form to the other side of the Burrow, to where most of the crowd had congregated, chattering in low voices. The Pensieve was on a small table, and next to it was a head of dark, bushy hair. Hermione Granger twirled her wand expertly, an unconscious gracefulness evident in her movements as she stood directly in the center of the group. "Whoever'd like to go first," she said hesitantly as Charlie and Henrietta arrived. "Just… think of the memory you cherish most. You can say it aloud if you like, though anyone here can access the Pensieve when we're finished. Anyway… think of something quintessentially Fred."

The small crowd murmured and chuckled, and Henrietta heard a few sobs that made her heart lurch. When no one stepped forward, Hermione gulped and went first.

"Mine would be the time my fifth year. When he saw a first-year crying after a detention with Umbridge… an eleven year old!" she shook her head, as if to shake off the lingering outrage. "He was comforting him while the boy cried, trying to cheer him up," she said, a little lost in thought as the memory moved into the bowl. "Right before Fred and George made their famous exit. That's another good one, for those who remember it. Those who don't… well, you can see it later, at your leisure."

The group was pensive, combing through their fondest memories for the ones they'd like to share the most.

Ron stepped forward, his face defiant, and shared a glance with Hermione before he spoke. "The summer after my first year, Fred and George caught me crying in the garden.I told them I thought Harry was being locked up at the Dursleys." Ron swallowed hard, his gaze flicking to George, who only stared at the casket. "I thought they were going to call me a ponce and be done with it."

Harry watched Ron intently.

"But all he said was 'We'll have to go get him then, won't we?' and George said 'Dad has that old Muggle car'," Ron grinned weakly, remembering, letting Hermione work her magic over him. "And Fred flew the thing to Privet Drive, no more questions asked. Brilliant. 'Course, that was after George nearly kicked him out of the seat. Wouldn't let him drive. The look on his face..."

Henrietta remembered Bill telling her that story, half-horrified and half-amused. Then Ron had driven it to school when the gate at King's Cross had somehow malfunctioned. Bill had found that much funnier in its sheer bullheaded idiocy; out of all their options, Ron had chosen to hijack the same vehicle that had gotten him in so much trouble so recently. No owling, no asking Mum, no finding any familiar wizards or witches to assist. It wasn't as though Ron knew not a single other soul in the community! The station was enormous, with dozens of portkey drop off locations and Apparation points.

And the icing on the cake was that they'd run right into the Whomping Willow, trashing Arthur's beloved Muggle car and breaking Charlie's old wand.

Luna Lovegood followed, her voice strong and high. "Fred was the sun," she said simply, and Hermione began to siphon a the memories from her. Her stream was longer than Ron's, but she did not elaborate on her meaning.

Surprised, Henrietta looked up at Charlie, who was watching Luna with the same gentle, intent gaze he had worn during every Care of Magical Creatures class. She supposed it wasn't odd that Luna knew Fred well enough to have so many memories, or such a detailed one; they were neighbors and they'd attended school together, and she was good friends with his siblings.

Then Ginny marched forward, her face streaming with tears, leaning so that Hermione had a better angle over her head. "Fred always let me practice curses on him," she said, laughing out a sob. "My bat-bogey hex was my speciality because Fred thought it was hilarious. I broke his nose, once, and he thought it was a lark. Said he wasn't going to tell Mum how, even when she refused to heal it until he told the truth. George had to fix it. Said it gave them the idea for the Nosebleed Nougat."

There was a pregnant pause. Katie gave a hysterical giggle and nudged Angelina, and the two silently smiled, a little tearily, until Bill took a step forward, his expression wistful. "When the twins were born, Percy was green," he began. "Took up all of Mum's attention, they did. He was so jealous. So me and Charlie were always looking after them, give Perce a bit of a break, have some time with Mum. Charlie was the only one who could shut George up, but Fred liked me best. Drove Mum mad," he said, sending a reminiscent glance to his mother. "But he always wanted me. When he hurt himself, during storms, or when he and George got on the wrong side of Possessive Percy, who was the worst terror of them all at that age. 'Course, he spent the rest of his days torturing Percy as revenge for his childhood tyranny."

Percy chuckled at that and stepped forward bravely, his expression a little apprehensive, as if someone in the crowd might heckle him. "Honestly… it must have been the time he and George turned Ron's teddy into a spider. It was an incredible show of magical aptitude from children. Mum was furious, but she couldn't even hide how impressed she was. That wasn't incidental or accidental magic, that was a wandless spell. Fred was always an incredible wizard."

"Arsehole," Ron mumbled, and Hermione giggled a little as the stream of silvery thought exited Percy's mind, flowing and twisting into the Pensieve with particular grace.

"Or..." Percy looked suddenly tortured. "My fifth year, Christmas. We all stayed at the castle, since it was Ron's first year at Hogwarts. The twins insisted I sit with them for dinner, shoved me in Mum's jumper, and frogmarched me round the castle, insisting it was a family holiday. Wouldn't even let me speak to any other person, except for Harry. One of the only times I really felt… like a member of the family. Er, or felt wanted as one, I suppose." Molly began to sob harder, throwing herself at Percy, whose thin, lanky frame had a little trouble holding her up before Arthur gently extricated her, his own face ashen. Percy looked as if he were ready to burst into tears himself, and the Weasleys all stiffened at the public show of emotion. Each of them were likely wishing to take their mother's pain away. Or to bash in Percy's head for being so thick for so long.

Voice a little choked, Charlie told a story of a time Fred and George had begged him to take him into the Forbidden Forest to see a unicorn. They'd never found it, but Hagrid had run into them, scolded them for their folly, and given the twins a pair of unicorn hairs for their trouble.

Then Lee Jordan recited a story about how he'd failed Quidditch tryouts so badly (no favoritism from Captain Charlie Weasley, he noted) that Fred had wheedled McGonagall into giving him the vacant commentator's position to the soon-to-be second year, Lee. It had taken a month's worth of good behavior, perfect marks, biscuit bribes, and a twenty-six inch essay on Lee's merits as a comedian, a sports expert, and an overall model Gryffindor student. The moment she'd relented, he'd set off fireworks, nearly setting the Quidditch stands on fire. Only a bit of quick thinking on George's part had spared the arena from total ruin (or notice from McGonagall and Hooch) - and their spots on the team. Dumbledore had found the incident quite amusing, and the products had eventually ended up as one of their best sellers.

Molly sobbed, her stream long as it exited her, summoning a few tears from Hermione as she siphoned the gaseous substance, trying to keep her eyes clear enough to do the spell. She was unable to share her memories. They all understood. The woman who had felled Bellatrix Lestrange was facing her worst fear. The last of the Prewetts was now burying her son.

Arthur talked about preparing for the Quidditch World Cup in '94, how excited Fred had been.

Oliver Wood described winning the Cup his seventh year, utterly lost in the memory. Charlie whispered that it was probably one of his Patronus memories and Henrietta had to clap a hand over her mouth to prevent a fit of giggles.

Angelina described the Yule Ball, her eyes firmly on George, who did not look at her.

Katie Bell tearily recounted how Fred had visited her at St. Mungo's, bringing her joke flowers that exploded into obnoxious song, and claimed, in turn, to be her husband, her brother, and grandfather, so they'd let him stay for family-only hours, wheedling the Healer into letting him stay, and eventually threatened to put a permanent sticking charm on Katie's and his hands if they tried to kick him out. He'd brought dozens of sweets; regular ones for her, and some of his newest test products for him. The Healers were less than pleased to see Fred turning into a Canary and molting less than a minute later, but it had lifted her spirits. Many of her other friends were still in school and unable to visit.

Alicia Spinnet, the lovely girl from the party that Henrietta hadn't recognized, drolly reminded George of the time she'd entered their occupied compartment first year and had unwittingly walked into a food fight… and had to go to the feast covered in Lee Jordan's cauldron cakes before Charlie-the-prefect could clean off her robes.

Henrietta herself described a time that Tonks transformed herself to look like Fred and George and the three of them had followed her about the castle, trying to get her to guess who was who, and heckling her each time she guessed incorrectly. It didn't help that Tonks, as a metamorphagus, could easily tell the difference between them and transformed in turn from George to Fred and back again, further confusing Henrietta.

Harry told a story of a time his second year, when all other students had been convinced he was the heir of Slytherin, that Fred and George had taken it upon themselves to escort him 'round the castle like his bodyguards, shouting about being on time to tea with the basilisk and needing to catch up with his 'fanged servant'. Ginny tearily laughed at that one. Molly wailed.

Throughout, George was silent, his expression miserable, even as he bit out the occasional, bitter laugh.

Fleur explained that Fred and George had been the first Weasleys to accept her and her Veela heritage, and despite her frank and rueful manner, Molly and Ginny and Hermione looked down guiltily.

The party continued to share; most, Henrietta knew, though some she didn't. These were the people who'd known Fred the best, or the longest. His family and his friends. The only people missing were Tonks and Remus; his surrogate sister and the only teacher who'd really been able to understand his marauding ways. Tonks had alluded to his pranksterish tendencies. It had been one of the reasons why she'd fallen so in love with him. Henrietta wished she could know what their memories were.

"I got one from Professor McGonagall as well," Hermione said, sending a nervous glance at George. "I hope that's okay, I just thought that she'd…"

"What is it?" Bill interrupted, amused.

Hermione relaxed, smiling a little herself. "When deciding prefects for his fifth year year… she suggested to Dumbledore that they send George and Fred fake Prefect badges, to see their reaction. Dumbledore was rather keen on the idea, and suggested that they become actual prefects."

George looked indignant for a moment, but Percy startled everyone. He began to roar with laughter that shook his shoulders, sending everyone else into gales. After a few moments, everyone wound down, leaving only Percy still wheezing with laughter. "Can you imagine?" he demanded aggressively, removing his glasses to wipe away a few tears of mirth. "After all the trouble you two gave me… Humongous Bighead…"

"Bloody hell," George said after a moment, but his eyes twinkled a little, though his frown remained fixed.

"Your turn," Charlie urged.

They were all curious to see what George would choose. But he only fidgeted a little, before clearing his throat. "Well," he began awkwardly, looking extremely awkward and put upon. "All your stories, they're brilliant. But all of those stories were about us. Together. Except for Katie's and Luna's. So… uh, thanks, I s'pose," he mumbled, trailing off. Hermione began the process of siphoning his memories, though he looked intensely uncomfortable. There was murmuring in the crowd, curiosity. Hermione finished and put down her wand, looking tired and yet somehow restored by what they'd done. Henrietta was a little in awe of her despite their age difference.

George did not look restored, only embarrassed, and Henrietta noticed his eyes kept straying to where Angelina stood.

Quickly, after that, the party dwindled down to the essentials - the Weasley family, Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, and Henrietta. Even Luna had left, citing something about her father needing her, and Angelina had departed stony-faced, a concerned Katie Bell and stoic Oliver Wood at her elbows. Henrietta wondered if it had to do with Fred or George or residual trauma or just exhaustion.

Percy had left, Molly and Arthur had gone to bed, and Fleur was asleep, nestled in the crook of Bill's arm. He was clearly loath to disturb her, even as Ron built a tower from Exploding Snap cards. Harry sat at Ginny's feet as she absentmindedly played with his hair. Henrietta herself was beginning to doze off when a voice startled her into sharp awareness.

"Oh! You're Henrietta Highbridge!"

Hermione Granger's slightly shrill voice woke her up immediately. She was on edge; the war (and her career) had taught her to be ready at a moment's notice, her wand out. Charlie's thigh was pressed against hers, denying her access to her wand, but she only blinked at Hermione.

Ron seemed just as confused. "Yeah, she is. I told you that."

"Yes," Hermione said impatiently, straightening and moving away from Ron a little as she stared at Henrietta. "But I forgot what it meant, I knew I'd heard your name before… you and your brother are famous! The Cursed Vaults… they were in the newest edition of Hogwarts, A History. It was only a footnote, which is why I couldn't remember."

Charlie wrapped a protective arm around her - she hated talking to people about her brother. "Yeah…" she answered cautiously, but Hermione's eyes were alight with a hunger for knowledge. "What else did it say?"

"Well, there wasn't any mention of you specifically in the text - was that at your request? But I cross-referenced the Cursed Vaults and found your family name in nearly a dozen Rita Skeeter articles!"

Her voice ended on a note of disgust, for which Henrietta was grateful. Damn Skeeter and her quill. She hadn't even realized that the Hogwarts library kept those articles, though she supposed it made sense.

"She's a cow," Hermione continued, though she was closely watching Henrietta for her reaction.

"Hermione locked her up in a jar for a year, once," Ron said, grinning broadly.

"What?" Charlie wanted to know. George remained silent. Bill was shaking with laughter.

"She kept printing lies about Harry," Hermione defended primly, and Ginny giggled. Harry only rolled his eyes fondly, a small smirk on his face. "And I found out she's an unregistered Animagus."

"I'm going to go," Henrietta responded abruptly, rising. Partially because she was tired, but partially because she didn't want Hermione to really pursue this line of questioning. She didn't doubt that the younger girl was a deadly combination of Rowan and Penny; intelligent, perceptive, discerning, and willing to go to extremes to get what she wanted. She'd heard Bill comment on her abilities more than once. High praise from the great Bill Weasley.

She waved goodbye, quickly exiting to Disapparate, but Charlie followed her outside.

"Come back for breakfast," he said. "I'm not sick of you yet."

She shook her head. "No," she decided. "We should go to Andromeda's."


	6. Chapter 6

At dawn, Charlie stood, his back cramped from cradling George, his arm numb and his neck aching.

George's silent tears hadn't interrupted his own sleep; his shallow, uneven breathing was punctuated with the occasional moan. Yet the keening, as irregular as it was, seemed as soothing for him as an infant's music box Charlie hadn't slept for more than an hour. His brother's palpable pain had kept him from falling asleep. It was as if it were radiating out from him, thicker and more tangible than his body heat and quiet weeping.

Quietly slipping down the steps, Charlie cast a silencing charm on his feet, padding noiselessly until he was back to the Pensieve. It was partly curiosity that had kept him awake, his thirst for answers.

He chose Luna's memory carefully, still surprised at the sheer volume of it, and poured it gently into the bowl, before immersing himself into the magic, the cool gaseous liquid that seemed to swallow his soul and wake him up, as though he were awash in cool water that banished sleep from his mind.

The sheer intensity of the memory startled him. Pensieve memories were often colored by emotion just as much by factual events… and this was so obviously colored that Charlie didn't quite recognize his surroundings for a moment. It didn't feel like real life. It was as if he'd suddenly surfaced into a lucid dream.

It was the Hog's Head, but everything had a certain atmospheric quality about it, as if flowers were going to burst from every crack in the wood and magical creatures could speak English. Aberforth seemed far more well groomed than Charlie could ever recall, his eyes sparkling with wisdom that was uncannily… Dumbledore. All of the paintings were quite noticeable and bright, something Charlie himself had never taken note of, even in his most recent visit. Everything felt purposeful; the thick layers of dust and grime felt like a metaphysical defense mechanism, rather than laziness. Charlie was living in an entirely different perspective, and the sensation was odd. He'd never been in the mind of someone so unusual before.

There was no one in the bar, save for Aberforth and Fred. Charlie searched around, but no sight of George. Taking a piss, perhaps? Running a quick errand at Zonko's? After a few moments of waiting, though, Charlie abruptly realized George was not coming. It was Fred without George, which of itself was such an odd concept that Charlie had trouble paying attention to the memory, which had been proceeding without him for a few minutes already.

"-So you're saying it worked, yeah?" Fred asked eagerly, staring at Luna, who was peering into her empty butterbeer bottle quite seriously, fiddling with the cap with utter concentration. The amber light of the setting sun peeked through the dusty windows and filtered through the bottle, the drops of golden butterbeer shining and casting a glow upon Luna's face.

"Oh yes, quite well. It was almost as good as one of my own," Luna responded, looking up into Fred's gaze, a physical jolt of euphoria going through Charlie, which he assumed was Luna's. Odd that it was palpable even to him.

Aberforth had disappeared. Whether or not he had actually left the room, Charlie wasn't sure.

"Ah," Fred said, disappointedly. "They're supposed to be more intense than a regular daydream, that's the whole magic bit… George thinks I should add another Cheering Charm to it, though I'm not sure, think it'll be too obvious. Happiness is good, but too much happiness is a little creepy and a bit annoying, sometimes simple relaxation is better..."

"Oh, they are delightfully strong. My daydreams are very visceral as it is. Perhaps I'm not a very good subject," Luna mused, piles of her hair falling into her face. She placed the bottle down and gazed at Fred, her eyes large and quixotic.

"No, no," Fred insisted hurriedly. Charlie eyed him gladly, drinking in his brother's every movement. He was perched on the literal edge of his seat, in a rather… Percyish demeanor. Fred, who'd never blushed, never batted an eye during a lie, and was a raging bloody extrovert from a family primarily composed of equally intense extroverts, seemed... nervous. "The daydream charm is based on you. I've seen you in the Great Hall. I've tried taking it, but I'm not sure how intense I should make it. And it's lasting a little longer than I thought. A half hour seems best, not too long, just enough for a History of Magic lesson."

"This could be a daydream right now," Luna put in, still solemn.

Looking around blankly, Fred blinked and shook his head with a laugh, as if for a moment he'd believed it might be true. His grin was blinding, brilliant, literally lighting the entire room with a pulse and a flash, orange and white and gold. It hurt Charlie's eyes a little, and he rubbed them. "Right that," he said, turning to a pile of papers and scribbling something down in the margins. "Well, Lee tried it too, and he said it wasn't powerful enough either, but he's a bit too less imaginative than you."

"Well, we don't want people to get lost in their daydreams, do we?" Luna wanted to know. "If the world inside your head is so much better, then some would never want to leave."

"Agreed," Fred said absently, still scribbling. "We need them to play off the individual daydreams of the user, enhance them."

"Do they cause physical reactions? Blushing or drooling or hiccoughs?"

"Well, hopefully they're too short to be too scary or intense or embarrassing. We don't want them to be overtly romantic, either, but it's easier to induce romantic fantasies than adventure ones."

"I should think a romance would be quite popular. Adventurous romance," Luna put her chin in her hand, her eyes faraway. "Dancing on the clouds. Maybe different ones do different things; a different genre for different moods."

Fred looked at her, and Charlie did not recognize his expression.

Dozens more glimpses passed him by, as if he were lost in the Floo, mixed together and yet distinct: Fred in the hall, winking, his arms slung around Angelina and Alicia; Fred flying during a Quidditch match, sending a grin to Luna, who was wearing a comically enormous lion's head; Fred and Luna, hours of them alone together, working on the intricate daydream charms. Sometimes George was there, or Lee Jordan, and occasionally Angelina, but they sped by in rapid flashes, there and then gone in half a second.

There was Dumbledore's Army - Ginny had explained it, but watching Harry teach a dozen students the Stunning Spell was more intriguing than Charlie would've thought possible. Seeing Luna's stray spell knock out George had Fred howling with laughter, and the very sound seemed to fill the room with music and light that no one else seemed to notice, even as it simultaneously deafened Charlie and thrilled him with the vividness and accuracy of it; Fred jogging over during breakfast to ask a question; Fred coincidentally serving a detention with her; Fred rubbing her head into Ginny's.

Then it was suddenly different - a room Charlie hadn't seen before, and Luna was dancing and spinning and laughing and Fred was there, and he was laughing, and the paneled mirrors were full of his laughing face, a small pile of prototypes on the ground. It was impossible to tell if this was a daydream or just Luna's vivid imagination, the room lit up and growing larger and brighter with the power of Fred's grin. Ginny was there too, laughing madly with George, her hair flying about her face in a ginger waterfall that sometimes was tinted burgundy or pink or blonde in the light of the mirrors. There were other faces, but they paled next to Ginny and Fred, golden and beautiful and powerful, until Luna turned and there was Harry, looking particularly lean and especially intense, his eyes greener than any other color Charlie'd ever seen before, his glasses glinting in the light of sparks and spell residue around him; Hermione, who looked sharper and angular than she did in life, a determined set to her chin and jaw and mouth; Ron, bigger and blunter, nose wider, height even more imposing, hair shaggy and robes soft with age. There were others, significant faces, that Charlie didn't recognize, a beautiful girl who almost appeared greyscale she was made up of such contrasts of white skin and black hair and dark eyes, Neville Longbottom, one of Ginny's friends, blond and gentle and kind.

Luna's perspective colored every detail of the picture, from the sparks from wands looking particularly beautiful, like miniature fireworks, all the way up to the ceiling, intricately carved, shining marble, seeming miles above their head.

It was odd. Charlie didn't quite recognize this iteration of Fred; it seemed far more George-like, gentler, calmer, and far more restrained than the wildness and impulsiveness he was used to in Fred, who was always rougher, always more intense and almost crueller. In these memories, Fred was clearly a separate creature from George, who in his few appearance seemed more different from Fred than Charlie had ever noticed. George was broader, and quieter, a little shorter, his smile softer, his hair longer and hiding his eyes just the slightest bit. His nose was straighter, and while he glowed with a sort of soft inner light that Luna associated him with, he was not as bright as Fred's fiery, blinding radiance. Their laughs were distinctly different even as they echoed in unison.

They'd finally fixed the daydream charm, and it had worked immensely well on a first year, and Fred had whooped and thrown his arms around her, squeezing Luna so tightly she let out an involuntary squeak as the air was forced from her lungs.

A joking parting kiss on her hand, from which a flower bloomed, hot and beautiful and fragrant. Then fireworks. Everywhere.

Letters. Hundreds of letters. Which didn't make sense, because Fred was an awful correspondent. Worse than Charlie himself.

A Potions lesson on Amortentia, where the room smelled like newspaper ink, the tinny sweetness of butterbeer caps, and fireworks.

Then the Battle.

Luna was serene, her wand moving rapidly, seemingly of its own volition, pale fingers wrapped around it gently, with hardly any wandwork and her mouth moving near silently as spells erupted around her, the world greyscale and icily beautiful and filled with stout heroes and unworthy enemies, penitent cowards and the cold bodies of martyrs who had greeted death bravely, because they were gallant and brave and loyal and so strong.

Then appeared the unmistakable, unforgettable flame that was Fred, racing by, and Percy too, and they were shouting and dodging and chasing and ducking and there was no George in sight and he passed by her.

Their eyes met, and for a moment, Fred stopped and winked before racing on, Percy at his heels, their wands moving in complicated gestures, moments before death. Charlie watched him go, heart aching, and looked at the fallen bodies that lay strewn across the halls.

Then there was an explosion and the memory went black.

Charlie yanked his head out from the Pensieve, a little overwhelmed by what he'd seen, unsure of how much of it was real, confused at the darkness around him. Everything seemed suddenly dulled, and his eyes adjusted to the strangeness of his surroundings.

He went back to bed and let George curl cold feet into his calves, thinking about the strange and beautiful world he'd been privileged enough to see. The light he'd seen from George was dimmed now, and Charlie's heart broke not just for the man in front of him, but for the boys the twins had been. He almost wished he could see as Luna saw, the intensity of her vision, the piercingness of her dream-tinted world.

Dreams.

They could all use a little more of those right now.

x

It was nearly noon before they managed to leave the Burrow.

Henrietta woke early enough, after an anxiety-ridden night, dozing off and on and dreaming about Hermione Granger, Molly Weasley, and Rita Skeeter. She pattered around the apartment, half-wishing she had stayed. But she knew it'd be too soon; Mrs. Weasley would be scandalized, and she felt uneasy taking Charlie's attention from George. Keeping her distance was suddenly seeming like a clever, if unappealing idea when several things occurred to her during the night.

The level of fame that the Weasley family would now be subjected to would probably include her in its scope. The very idea was terrifying. As the leftover fear dissipated from the wizarding world, the excitement and hunger for entertainment disguised as news would rise in direct proportion. She could imagine the headlines.

Arthur Weasley, a staunch friend of the Muggles, would probably be hailed as an eccentric genius. Bill and Fleur would be a new power couple; a Weasley and a half-Veela, romanticized as forbidden love. Throw in his Greyback attack and it was enough material for a Celestina Warbeck album. Percy, the Minister's assistant, quitting the regime to join in a fight that could kill him. Fred, a martyr; George, a figure of tragedy. Ginny, the Chosen One's girlfriend and manufacturer of revolution in an enemy-occupied Hogwarts. Molly, the backbone of a resistance movement. Ron, an integral part of Voldemort's defeat.

And Charlie, international dragonologist, a professional in a glamorous field that sent young witches into throes of delight, muscular and handsome and apparently single, a Quidditch prodigy a la family friend Viktor Krum, planting the seeds of dissent amongst foreign political bodies and appearing just in time to the final confrontation.

Being involved with him meant Rita would target her again. The material that woman could dig up and make up… She was exhausted by the very thought. Though harmless and not even really mal-intentioned, Rita was a nuisance, and the idea of dealing with her on even a semi-regular basis was a little horrifying. The idea of Hermione Granger capturing her as a beetle couldn't even amuse her. The things that girl was capable of were unimaginable.

With that, the image of Molly Weasley bearing down on her was also a little intimidating. Sure, in theory Mrs. Weasley had always seemed to want her to go off with one of her sons, but after hearing complaints from Bill about what he and Fleur had gone through, there was very little she wanted to do less than test that theory. Another quick cruciatus would be less painful than dealing with Charlie's mother suddenly resenting her. Especially now that Tonks was gone and couldn't make everything easy again, charming all parents and little children alike with her easy humor and mischievous grins.

Sighing, she sorted through her mail, chucking a good deal of it. She stopped at the Gringotts seal, ripping it open and reading through the information; easy enough. All she had to do was submit a copy of her finalized paperwork to the Ministry, since it was a position abroad, She was due in Romania in two weeks. They'd supply her a flat if she needed.

She was glad she wouldn't.

There was a good deal of old lore there; perhaps not as dangerous or as filled to the brim with treasure as Egypt, but fascinating in its own right. Romania, in addition to being the only international dragonologist research site in the world, bragged of a good many vampires and hags, as well as acromantulas, which caused her to shiver in remembrance. Medieval manors, ancient curses, and even a good deal of hospital-based curse breaking, which brought little gold to the Goblins and thusly was hardly a clause in her new contract.

As early as she dared, she Apparated to the Burrow. When she'd been apartment hunting, dealing with a Floo network seemed like an ungodly amount of paperwork. She also found the ash and dust more annoying than it was worth. So for politeness' sake, she Apparated next to the door, which was open anyway.

"But Mum, Charlie said I could go, I haven't even seen the baby yet," Ginny argued, her arms crossed and her back to Henrietta, not even turning at the loud pop of her appearance. "It's not fair, she'd be happy to see me!"

"Andromeda needs peace and quiet, two things you are clearly incapable of!" Mrs. Weasley snapped, clearly at the end of her tether already. "I told you, Ginny, we aren't to rush her! Let Charlie visit with her and you and Harry can go tomorrow."

"Why can't I do both? If I were her, I'd want loads of visitors."

"Well, you aren't her, and she isn't as rambunctious as you lot."

Ginny whirled around without so much as a greeting. "Say I can go, 'Rie, please, I'll be so good-"

"If your mum doesn't think it's a good idea…" Henrietta hedged, hesitant to make an enemy in Mrs. Weasley after her paranoid thoughts earlier.

"Oh, call me Molly, dear," Mrs. Weasley responded warmly, seeming to relax from her battle stance. "Would you like any breakfast?"

"She'd love some, as would I, Mum," Charlie said, yawning, kissing his mother's cheek, face covered in the prickly beginnings of a beard. "George is coming down too. Think Ginny's shouting woke him up. Might've woken the entirety of the village too, but no matter."

Mrs. Weasley clucked her tongue and bustled back to her pots and pans, turning on the wireless to the news station and getting her knitting and laundry together. The house, despite the party, still bore signs of being unlived in for several weeks.

"Didn't shout," the sixteen-year-old answered moodily, raising one sharply auburn brow. "Just tired of being cooped up! First Auntie Muriel's, now this? At least Aunt Andromeda's house smells good. I felt like a human mothball at Muriel's."

"Why don't you volunteer to help the cleanup crew at Hogwarts? You'll be allowed to do magic while there as well," Henrietta suggested, attempting to maintain the peace.

"Actually," Ginny said boldly. "I was hoping me and George could come with you when you get settled in at Romania."

"Shh," Henrietta narrowed her eyes, waiting to see if Mrs. Weasley had heard. She didn't need Charlie's mother to find out they were planning on living together. Especially when she wasn't even sure if they were actually dating.

"You were hoping for what?" George wanted to know, looking exhausted, his hair mussed and eyes shadowed.

"We're going to Romania with Charlie and Henrietta."

"You're-"

"Shh!" Henrietta hissed, and motioned for them to go outside. George reluctantly followed the other three. "I don't need your mum knowing about our living arrangement."

Ginny's eyes were huge and her smirk was devilish as she feigned shock. "Why Charlie! You two don't mean to tell me you're going to be living in sin! Making a veritable scarlet woman out of dear Henrietta!"

"Mum'll blow up. Nearly murdered Bill when she found out he and Fleur moved in together before they were married," George reminisced, and for a split second, his expression matching Ginny's, almost looked like his old self. Almost. There was still something missing.

"I don't need that sort of fury directed at me, to be honest." Henrietta admitted, her tone partly casual and partly pleading.

"It's a Weasley family rite of passage," George responded dryly.

Charlie interrupted: "Didn't you and Bill stay together in Egypt?"

"Yes, but the context was a little bit different there, wasn't it?" Henrietta wanted to know. "I mean, he wasn't my…" she trailed off, unsure what to call him.

"We'll keep it quiet, but we're going to Romania with you," Ginny bargained. "We need a vacation. Besides, we've hardly seen you for years, we've got to reacquaint ourselves."

"Speak for yourself, anyway, Gin," George responded, not looking as though he were feeling any particularly strong emotion. "I'm not going. And why don't you wanna stay here with Harry?"

"Harry and Ron and Hermione are always a trio," Ginny answered, her expression both understanding and envious. "I'm not part of it. I think…" she hesitated, and the pain and jealousy and annoyance and desire to help were all mixed in her expression even as she attempted to quash it and seem casual. "They need space to be normal again for a little. Before I start shoving the boyfriend stuff back on Harry. They went through a lot. I can't understand it, and he isn't ready to share yet."

She rounded on George.

"Same goes for you. You need to get out and be somewhere else. Not here, not the shop, and not up Angelina's arse. We're going, that's final."

Henrietta snorted despite herself. Ginny had certainly blossomed into a bossy young woman. It was impressive. At least George was sufficiently cowed. Or perhaps he cared so little that it didn't matter.

"Says who you're going?" Charlie challenged again, equally as immune to Ginny's ultimatums.

"Says me. Besides, we haven't visited in ages, not since Christmas before my first year at school. Please," she begged. "Just for a week. We'll stay out of trouble. You know we need this, Charlie, please."

Switching tactics worked. The bullying had no effect on Charlie; the sway of his mother's shouting had long since lost power. However, a baby sister's liquid brown eyes were as hypnotic as they'd been when she was a toddler.

"Well, if Henrietta thinks it's alright…" he trailed off, shooting a pleading look at Henrietta.

Really, she couldn't see the harm in it, and she couldn't deny that a short holiday would be good for everyone. It'd be nice to have a girl to help her settle in; Charlie had told her all about his living situation, but she'd never seen it, nor lived with him. It was quite possible he was messy, or had terrible taste. Not that she minded, but it would make it homier to know his family had been there.

"It sounds like fun to me," Henrietta relented, a small grin playing at the corners of her mouth. "Still, I seem to remember an old promise from Charlie that he promptly broke."

"What?" Ginny demanded. George turned to go back inside.

"Said I'd be his first visitor if he got the job in Romania. Never did visit."

"Hey, you moved to Egypt!" he protested, laughing, wrapping an arm around her and pressing a hard kiss to her temple. "Bill hasn't visited me either. I did go to Egypt that once, though."

"You came for three days," she teased, mock-accusation in her voice, grinning as Ginny pretended to gag.

"Wasn't my fault you fled the bloody country to avoid me," he ribbed.

"I was doing my job! Wasn't my fault I got stuck in South America for a fortnight," she protested, laughing a little. "I was wondering at the convenient timing that you visited the one time I wasn't around."

George and Ginny both pretended to gag.

"A week of this might be torture," George muttered to Ginny, but he seemed less deflated.

"The obvious solution is to not come," Charlie suggested, but now that Henrietta had given her blessing, he seemed excited. "Just make sure Mum's okay with it, Ginny. I don't want to end up in front of the Wizengamot for kidnapping you."

So after breakfast, Ginny set upon her Mum, preparing to wear her down until a visit to Romania seemed like a brilliant idea.

They collected a basket of items Mrs. Weasley put together, full of photographs and food and a pair of gloves Tonks had left at the Burrow and never reclaimed. Charlie held the immensely heavy basket, but Henrietta fingered the soft leather of the gloves.

"Do you remember that dragon scale?" Charlie asked her suddenly, his hand curved around her arm.

She grinned. "Nah, I somehow forgot searching for an odd stranger in Hogsmeade and ransacking a Red Cap's hole to get enough gold to buy it."

He laughed at that. "Five hundred galleons," he said wonderingly. "So much bloody gold for a scam. Imagine what my mother could've done with that kind of money."

"And the arse didn't even give me any information about Jacob," she grumbled.

"I kept it," Charlie admitted. "Even after moving to Romania. It's in the house there. My first real piece of a dragon."

Henrietta smiled at that sentimental image. "That's lovely."

They side-along Apparated and knocked on the door.

Andromeda was lovely even in exhaustion, a tiny infant in her arms as she answered the door. Not yet two months old. It was a miracle Tonks had been able to stand during the Battle, let alone duel. Henrietta shivered at the thought. Tonks was always the last one they'd been able to imagine as a mother; Tonks in love had been an even odder phenomenon. She was always so independent, so odd, so comfortable with herself. People like Tonks were rare.

"Henrietta," she said, gracious even in grief, her elegance undeniable and her presentation utterly put together. "How kind of you to visit. And Charles," she turned to him, and though she had been warm to Henrietta, she seemed to suddenly melt at the sight of him. Henrietta hastily took little Teddy into her arms, awkwardly cradling him, and Andromeda hugged Charlie, tightly. "You've grown so much since you were children. But that hair," she added distastefully, stepping back.

"Charlie's got nothing on this one, though," Henrietta pointed out, fascinated by the tiny baby, not yet chubby with baby fat. Still a delicate, spiny creature, Teddy's eyes seemed to shimmer from gray to blue to green to brown just as his hair moved from blue to black to purple. "You'll never master a haircut on him."

They stood at the threshold of the Tonks household, and Andromeda brought them inside. It seemed quite lonely in there, suddenly, despite the windows and the smiling pictures; Ted on Tonks' toy broomstick, her hair red with fury; Tulip and Tonks, making faces at the camera; Remus and a newborn Teddy, both crying. There were flowers, and neatly shelved books. But there was no Tonks.

"Don't cry, dear," Andromeda urged her, and she realized she was.

"Here, Charlie, take him," Henrietta handed over the baby. Charlie took Teddy expertly, handling him with a practiced gentleness only an older brother could master, looking far more comfortable with the child than Henrietta had felt.

"He just ate, huh?" Charlie grinned as the baby burped a little, dribbling a little, staining Charlie's shirt. He'd chosen it specifically, he'd told her, because Andromeda always nagged him about his appearance. She and Mrs. Weasley were quite good friends, too, and it showed in their mannerisms.

"Oh dear," she fretted, pulling out her wand and quickly tapping it. The stain disappeared quickly.

"I was just teasing, don't worry about it," Charlie cooed, wiping Teddy's mouth with his thumb. "Felt like Ginny was constantly puking on me as an infant, I'm used to it."

"But your shirt," Andromeda protested, gesturing for them to sit. "Tea? Coffee? Juice?"

"Tea, thanks," Henrietta affirmed, but Charlie shook his head. Teddy seemed quite comfortable in his arms. They drank quietly, until Henrietta asked: "Were you at the Weasley's yesterday, Mrs. Tonks?"

"Briefly," she answered, sipping from her cup and placing it down with a gentle clack. "Teddy was fussy. Though Harry did promise to come visit sometime this week. Ginevra said she'd owl with the specifics."

Charlie suddenly relaxed, and Henrietta realized he was doing more than checking up on Andromeda. These were his cousins, albeit distantly, and more than that, Andromeda was family. Charlie, used as he was to an enormous clan, likely couldn't imagine being alone with a child and nothing else. He was making sure she would remain checked upon by the others. Mrs. Weasley was busy with her own loss, and it wasn't like Andromeda to simply drop in. Though with Bill out of the house, Charlie in Romania, Percy on his own, Fred dead, and Ginny in school, the house was likely far quieter than it had been since Arthur and Molly had married. The thought was sombering.

"Harry's a good chap," Charlie offered, letting Teddy's small hand grip his finger. The nails widened a little, mimicking Charlie's own nailbeds.

"He's Edward's godfather. Remus was quite passionate about it, and Nymphadora was not difficult to convince, though you were a contender as well, Charles."

"Does he have a godmother?" Henrietta wanted to know.

Andromeda's eyes darkened with tears for a moment before she blinked, hard, and took a breath. "Not officially, though Nymphadora did mention your name, as well as Penny Haywood's."

Henrietta's heart broke a little at hearing that and she teared up herself. Even having been a part of the conversation was an honor.

"She said you were determined and fair… and a magnet for trouble,"; Andromeda continued, offering her a small smile. "All qualities she admired in a fellow Hufflepuff. I rather liked that you'd been a prefect in school. Made me think she wasn't a total hooligan while she hung around you."

"She was," Charlie answered bluntly, and Henrietta giggled. Teddy's eyes focused on her and his hair turned yellow. "Even after Henrietta, Bill, and I were all made prefects, she curbed none of her mischief."

"Nor yours," Henrietta responded, offering her own hand for Teddy to grab. Charlie was far more comfortable with children than she. "How many times did we enter the Forbidden Forest?"

Charlie only grinned, and Andromeda smiled genuinely, softening her patrician beauty.

They continued on for a while, catching up. They shared their plans of Romania, and Andromeda nodded.

"Is Molly aware you two are moving in together?" Andromeda asked, her beautifully shaped brow raising in chastisement. "Will I be seeing a wedding announcement in the Daily Prophet?"

Henrietta dropped her mouth in horror at the thought.

"We've only been together for a few days, actually, Mrs. Tonks," Charlie hastily corrected, shifting his weight. "It was more of a-"

"Spur of the moment idea, I'm sure, Charles," Andromeda answered wryly. "Though I was quite certain the two of you had been together, I'm not sure why."

It suddenly dawned on Henrietta's mind that Tonks, despite her ribbing and pushing and teasing, would never see them together. Although their 'togetherness' was loosely defined and very in the air, Henrietta felt confident and sure about it in a manner she hadn't felt in any of her previous relationships. There was a comfort there, a trust. A partnership. Tonks, after all her late night demands for gossip, after the ball, after everything they'd been through, would never see them dating after a decade of will-they-won't-they.

"Breathe," Charlie nudged her with his shoulder. Teddy yawned and cuddled deeper into the crook of his arm. "Whatever terror you're coming up with is probably just the little boggart in your head."

"Rita Skeeter," Henrietta explained to Andromeda, who was quite familiar with her misadventures. "Also, a healthy dose of respectful fear for Mrs. Weasley's reaction."

Nodding primly with understanding, Andromeda poured more tea. "Don't worry dear. You'll be all the way in Romania. Besides, Harry defeating…. Him will be her priority for quite a while, I'm sure. Post-war coverage, interviews… she'll be busy for months. As for Molly, she was always transparent in her efforts to get you and Nymphadora under her wing."

"I'm changing my name," Henrietta decided, half-serious.

"Change it to Weasley," Charlie suggested. "Then that ratty old sweater'll be accurate."

"As far as proposals go, you'll have to do better than that, Charles," Andromeda said sternly. "Though, at least your living arrangements will become far more decorous."

"Don't worry, Mrs. Tonks, he's proposed over a thousand games of gobstones," Henrietta rolled her eyes playfully. "Nobody'll tie down Charlie Weasley anytime soon. Not while dragons exist."

"Mum'd be pleased," Charlie insisted. "I'll fashion a ring out of some pocket lint right now. Have to lock down the good ones when you've got the chance so the other blokes don't get there first."

"Women aren't property, Charlie, I'm not being locked anywhere," Henrietta exclaimed, mock-indignantly. Teddy perked up at her slightly raised voice and let out a little sound. "See, even Teddy agrees. Cheers."

Andromeda smiled indulgently. "I suppose subtlety is best, when you've got a marker like that upon your back."

They ended up sharing lunch with Andromeda before leaving; she mentioned a meeting with a Gringotts' dispatch, to discuss Remus and Tonks' wills and assets.

"Feel free to write, dear," Andromeda told her, embracing her. "I consider you a friend of the family. Teddy could use a godmother, official or unofficial. And if you hear word of Penny Haywood, tell her the same. Two are better than one."

Charlie reluctantly returned a fussy Teddy to Andromeda, and as they stepped outside to Disapparate, his cries broke out through the air.

x

Three days later, Henrietta was standing in the Burrow, insisting to Molly that she wasn't hungry, thank you, yes she was sure, thank you, yes I'd love to call you Molly, thank you Mrs. Weasley - I mean Molly. Charlie beat down the staircase, kissed his mother's cheek, and they promptly Apparated to Rowan's.

Andre was already there, half-drunk with hunger and exhaustion and half a glass of firewhiskey, a plate of rolls hidden amongst the tomes strewn across Rowan's table.

"Andre," Charlie said warmly, grinning at him. "The adventurer. Welcome back to the isles, mate."

"Feels good to be back," Andre proclaimed, and despite the slight slur to his words, his shirt was neatly pressed and his robes were cut stylishly. His style had clearly not been cramped by his travels as Henrietta had imagined. "Missed my favourite Curse-Breaker and Dragontamer, though."

"Don't lie, I'll imagine it was nice to finally get a moment's peace," Rowan quipped.

"Ouch," Henrietta blinked at Rowan's barbed wit. "Am I that bad?"

Slinging a muscular arm around her, Charlie leaned down and whispered in her ear. "Yep," he affirmed, grinning.

Penny and Barnaby arrived shortly after, her manner doe-eyed and his solicitous.

"So what's going on here?" Andre slurred a little, his arm slung around Rowan, his elbow propped against a particularly large tome on Rowan's table. His gaze was level and pointed at Penny. "Is this a date?"

Henrietta raised a brow at Barnaby, who fidgeted and waited for Penny to answer, his eyes adoring. She did, a her eyes suddenly glinting steel.

"Barnaby sacrificed everything to help protect my father. Barnaby is the only reason he's alive, and maybe the rest of my family too."

There was silence for a beat.

"We're engaged." Barnaby clarified, his eyes proud.

"Bloody hell, congratulations!" came Bill's unexpected voice from the stairwell. Fleur waved at Henrietta daintily before introductions went around.

"So is there just gonna be a huge flux of postwar weddings?" Rowan wondered. "I do like weddings. Is Beatrice the flower girl, or can I be? You know, I read the most fascinating thing about the history of wedding culture in the British Isles-"

Fleur immediately took to Penny's unique hairstyle, and the two chatted off to the side while Rowan and Henrietta mused about weddings. Rowan supplied obscure facts about the first war's marriage rates, and Bill contributed. Charlie and Andre fell into conversation about the Americas and Romania, and the different creatures they encountered, and the oddness of wizarding culture abroad, to Barnaby's immense curiosity and awe.

As the night went on, it was clear that Fleur was an immediate hit to the rest of their friends as well, and despite Charlie's professed distrust of Barnaby, the two had been engaged in conversation, Charlie's hand lodged in Henrietta's firmly, as if reassuring himself that she was still there. How he could look at Barnaby Lee and still mistrust him, Henrietta couldn't understand. His eyes were guileless, his smile as sweet as ever, and despite his obvious physical strength, he maintained the same gentleness around Penny that she realized she associated with Charlie himself.

Bill was recounting the story of the Ice Vault to Fleur, who was giving him the same lovesick expression Penny was giving Barnaby, explaining how Ben had covered all their tracks, saving them from being docked hundreds of house points (which at the time had seemed a shocking punishment) how it had inspired his desire to be a Curse-Breaker, and Charlie was occasionally breaking out of his discussion with Barnaby to make a disparaging remark about Bill's being Head Boy - usually quickly served back with a remark about Charlie's inability to focus on anything but dragons or Quidditch... or Henrietta.

Andre asked about Liz Tuttle, and Barnaby answered that she was safe, that she was fine, her family was fine, that she'd actually done astonishingly well, which was not surprising given her family's stature and her utter lack of politics. Then Andre told Charlie and Barnaby all about his adventures across the Americas, a job he'd never wanted but had fallen into, just in time to escape the war. Barnaby listened solemnly, asking only about the different creatures Charlie and Andre knew about, his deep envy written across his face for the creatures he'd only seen in class or in books. Charlie invited them both to Romania whenever they'd like, and Barnaby's face lit up. Henrietta was glad to see him making an effort; despite his biases, their easy friendship returned without pause.

Charlie told them soberly of Tulip's arrest, Dementor attack, and subsequent Kiss. Even her parents hadn't been able to save her. A loose Dementor was a dangerous thing, and Rowan supplied that the Ministry was dissatisfied with the situation on Azkaban. That, combined with the fall of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, left them overbred with nothing to feed on; there were a record amount of sightings, up even from the war. Casualties were still mounting.

At first they laughed together, reunited in Rowan's enormous home, victors of a war. The mood had shifted after that.

It had only been four days since the memorial.

Rowan offhandedly referenced her intense loneliness, her fear, the danger her family had been in, the intricate research she did for the Order. Penny and Andre were shocked and delighted by Rowan's contributions to the revolution effort.

Penny told them of hiding, of the fear, of the cluster of boggarts that had hidden themselves in their safehouse, of Barnaby's defection from his family to save her, his constant heroics and the protection that saved their lives after her father's wand had been accidentally broken.

The conversation turned to Badeea who had married a Muggle and quietly disappeared from the world of magic, even as her art became famous to the Muggle world, to Jae, in prison, to Ben, to Rita Skeeter and Ismelda Murke, to Talbott the unregistered Animagus, to Quidditch rivalries and Diego Caplan, who was still dangerously sick with dragon pox.

They talked about how Snape had died. They talked about Ted Tonks and Andromeda, about Bill's safehouse for refugees, about Henrietta's lying low since graduation, about Tonks' wedding, Bill's wedding, about Harry Potter, though Bill and Charlie were fiercely protective of that topic despite Rowan and Penny's acute curiosity.

Later, after a few pints, Henrietta leaned against Charlie's arm and thought that perhaps Penny had appreciated Fleur's steadfastness. The two young women, beautiful and vivacious and clever... they had more in common than their looks or the pull they had on others.

Viewing the werewolf attack that had killed her Muggle best friend had left Penny with deep, psychological scars. Fleur had not seen Bill get savaged, but she had been there after, through the difficulties and the pain and the healing. Perhaps Penny felt healed by Fleur's presence, even as Barnaby and Andre - despite their personal objections - were a little magnetized by the part-Veela.

Charlie absently pressed his lips to her head, and Penny let out a shriek. Everyone was roused from their drink-induced stupor and stared at her, a little annoyed, a little frightened, a little on edge.

"What?" Andre demanded, irritated.

"Did you not see that? Charlie just kissed Henrietta!"

Barnaby shrugged. "I kiss you all the time."

Henrietta's face burned but she did not scoot away from Charlie; indeed, she had to fight the urge to bury her face in his shoulder, which was an entirely unfamiliar and feminine urge. "Shut up," she responded maturely and eloquently.

"Playing gobstones with you two was always insufferable. Charlie'd go on about you meeting Mrs. Weasley for tea or making you an official Weasley - it was sickening," Penny proclaimed, her expression cheery. "Don't you know what this means?"

"That my crush was patently obvious to every bloody person we knew?" Charlie asked dryly, though he was a little pinker beneath his tan. "Or that I am still hopelessly devoted to her a decade and a continent later?"

Bill barked a small chuckle at that, knowing how true it was.

"No," Penny explained impatiently. "It means that love still thrives even in the most trying circumstances! That true love is real, that good blokes don't finish last, and that Henrietta is not a prude! That love is more than just a feeling or an abstract concept… that true love is magical and very real and purposeful!"

Purpling, Henrietta did scoot away from Charlie a little, feeling the loss of his warmth acutely but feeling a little humiliated by Penny's inadvertent words. "I'm going to go get some air…" she said, twisting. "I'm a little tipsy, can't Apparate like this."

Before anyone could argue, she twisted out and exited, feeling thankful for the warm breeze. It had begun to get a little claustrophobic in there. She didn't know why she felt that way; these were the people she trusted most, many of whom she'd literally trusted with her life at least one time prior. It wasn't that she was embarrassed of Charlie, but this was wholly new and the attention on her was embarrassing.

Even from her first day of school, she'd felt like a spectacle - even from her first day, becoming Merula's target. Then word had gotten out about who she was and who her brother was. Then the Cursed Vaults had happened, and it seemed as though she were constantly attracting attention, odd looks, strange gossip, odd calls from strange adults who seemed to know more about her than she did herself. She chose her friends carefully. Rowan, who'd been so eager and excited; Ben, who'd been so timid and terrified, caught up in a world beyond his wildest imagination; Penny, so incredibly pretty and likable that third year boys crushed on her and fourth year girls befriended her; Bill, two years older, cool and smart and incredibly talented; then Barnaby, the sweetest Slytherin she'd ever met, Tulip, perhaps Tonks' only match in sheer ability to cause trouble; Andre, who constantly criticised out of a place of affection and misguided attempts to help.

And then Charlie.

Sweet, gentle, kind. He'd defended her before he even knew her, had the ability to gentle even those like Merula and Ismelda, was quiet and smart and incredibly talented in everything he attempted.

Billingsley, Jae, Badeea, Diego. Liz.

She shivered, walking a little to keep warm. She wasn't ready to go back inside. She didn't want to face the teasing. For some reason, that teasing felt awful right now; too soon. Too soon after Remus and Tonks and Tulip and Fred and Ben and everyone else who'd died or been hurt.

There had been a sixteen year old in the Battle. One of Luna's classmates. He'd snuck in to fight and he had died. Despite herself, she imagined it being Ginny. Goosepimples erupted all over her skin, and she shivered, hard. She thought of George, who Charlie had told her cried in his sleep.

She wondered if George hated her presence, or if Charlie found her attractive. She wondered if Molly resented her, if Rowan begrudged her the dangerous Order work, if her work had even mattered. If Charlie would get tired of her in Romania, if her parents had ever been genuinely proud of her, or if they'd just distrusted her.

It suddenly felt very cold.

She turned to go back inside, feeling morose and not at all sober, when the feeling sank into her. The visceral memories, the achingly loud silences.

Her parents gazing haughtily at Jacob his first night back after he'd been expelled, disdain evident in their eyes.

Rowan getting injured their first year - it was her fault.

Bill landing in the hospital wing, trying to protect her.

Ben dying, his face wide and shocked.

Duelling Torvus in the woods, Penny terrified. Telling Penny to leave as she faced the werewolves alone.

Fighting Boggart-Voldemort, over and over and over again.

Jacob leaving.

Duncan Ashe's spirit.

Tonks' dead body.

So many dead bodies.

A Dementor.

Just one, sliding along its eerie path, its faceless hood turned towards her, sending her stomach lurching with another burst of fear and dread. A cold sweat was dripping its way down her back.

"Expect… expecto…" she said weakly, her grip on her wand loose. It didn't matter. It didn't matter if she died right now, if she were Kissed... just like Tulip...

Then she noticed Charlie.

He was just outside the door, closer to the Dementor, kneeling on the ground, his face ashen, gripping his wand, his moans unearthly. It was a stark image, so opposite of anything she'd ever seen from him before, and she gasped silently, swallowing the air.

"Expecto… patronum!" she whispered, but it was not moving towards her any longer, but towards Charlie, who'd dropped his wand hand, his expression riven, writhing out of the way in desperation and agony and pure misery.

"Expecto Patronum!" she shrieked, wracking her brain for any memories that could help.

Tonight, before the morbidity.

Last night.

Any night she'd spent near Charlie.

Her time in Egypt with Bill.

Tonks' wedding.

Seeing Andromeda and Teddy.

All of these memories felt tainted by pain.

Jacob.

Ben.

Any of her friends.

Her work with the Gringotts.

It leaned closer to Charlie and her knees buckled as hopelessness washed over her. She thought of Charlie, his bright hair like flame in the sun, his burns and scars and freckles and his low, deep voice, suggesting she come to Romania, teasing her about her wand…

"Expecto Patronum!" she incanted one last time, and to her surprise, to her utter delight which only served to make it stronger and clearer, something burst from her wand with a warmth and strength she'd never before imagined. It was as if her wand was the source of all the joy in the world, all the warmth, every second of peace and moment of success, soaring from her wand and her heart and raising the temperature around them by ten degrees.

With every moment, the Dementor receded and the air warmed, her wand hot and vibrant in her hand. After a moment, the light seemed to soar back to her. Whatever it was, it seemed to have wings, and she swore she saw it more clearly just a moment before it disappeared, fleeing and dissipating into the distance.

She stood there for a moment, breathing hard, trembling and cold and ready to vomit. She resisted the urge to fall to her knees.

The quick glide of the Dementor, Charlie's sudden appearance, her casting a spell she'd never before been able to. And a nearly corporeal one, at that!

She suddenly felt joyous, rushing over to Charlie, feeling her head pound at her quick movements.

"Charlie? Charlie!" Bill bellowed from behind his brother, kneeling down, the door open behind him. "What happened?"

"Dementor," Henrietta breathed, relieved at the sudden appearance of Bill - everything was okay when Bill was there.

He swore under his breath and knelt, his body barely out of the door, still half inside , attempting to lift his much heavier brother. Henrietta rushed over, trying to help him secure his grip. She watched their two faces, so similar and so different; both scarred, the same long nose, their cheekbones identical.

Bill hoisted him up, his expression stony, and a chill washed over Henrietta suddenly - could he blame her?

She turned and in the distance, she saw two more shadowed figures. Staying close to Bill, she tightly locked the door and added a few security spells.

Rowan had been right about the Dementors. Three, including the one who'd nearly Kissed Charlie. Her stomach cramped with anxiety and fear.

She felt a coward, but she was glad for that Gringotts paperwork.


End file.
